


we all fill up with time

by interropunct



Series: we all fill up with time [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: All Your Faves Are Trans, Alternate Universe - No Magic, BDSM, Bondage, Caning, Communication, Frottage, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Paddling, Panic Attacks, Religious Themes, Sensation Play, Sensory Deprivation, Shibari/Kinbaku, Subdrop, TRCBigBang, Tattoos, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Vibrators, Wax Play, abuse recovery, pain play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-09 02:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 55,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8871334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interropunct/pseuds/interropunct
Summary: Ronan knows the risks. Intimately. He's been out of the scene for a while, playing it safe. But he's back and Adam is the first person to catch his eye. It's never easy starting something new, trusting someone new. But maybe Adam can make it worth his while.





	1. are you ready? here we go

**Author's Note:**

> The fic title and chapter titles come from The Front Bottoms’ “Just As Big Twice As Swollen” and “The Bells” because the entire Front Bottoms’ discography is about Adam, Adam/Ronan or the Gangsey.  
> Thank you for @neiljosten on tumblr for her amazing beta-ing. This fic would not have come together without her.
> 
> Additional warnings for this chapter: mentions of temporary piercings. I’d like to state here that I’ll try to tag for major features in this fic but please read the notes for additional warnings and if you have any worries about the topics that are covered and want me to describe what happens so you’re not triggered just message me, I will do whatever I can to help.

The club was loud and dark and the main room hummed with a mixture of awkwardness and excitement while the back rooms occasionally opened to spill out their aroused or satisfied occupants. Adam wasn’t much for exhibitionism so some might think that a play party wasn’t really the right place for him. But it was a private party and you only got in if you were invited so Adam hadn’t wanted to pass it up. Besides he wasn’t really looking for anything in particular, he would enjoy himself even if he just mingled and watched.

Blue had got him the invitation through one of her friends even though she was fairly vanilla herself. Still, ever since that drunken night in his last year at Columbia when he’d confessed to her that “I just really like tying people up sometimes, and other stuff, lots of other stuff” she’d been plenty supportive. And had even come with him a few times for some of the parties that required you to register with a buddy.

Some people might find it weird to bring your ex-girlfriend to a sex club, but his and Blue’s relationship had been weird since the beginning. They’d met in Adam’s first year at law school because Blue worked as a barista at not one but three coffee shops scattered across the city, one of which was near Columbia and another was near his apartment in Upper Manhattan. Considering the amount of coffee Adam consumed during that first year it was honestly impossible for him not to become friends with Blue.

They dated for two years and he thought a dozen times about them getting married. But Blue was about as poly as you could get, being tied to one and only one person made her feel trapped. Besides which, Adam had plans: he was going to graduate top of his class and then work at one of the best law firms in the country and eventually he would stop feeling like he was living a lie. Meanwhile Blue hated all that pretentious crap and preferred her strange odd jobs and stranger clothes and her plans to travel the world on a shoestring budget.

Adam loved her and probably always would. But they were headed in different directions and eventually their paths diverged enough that they couldn’t see themselves staying together.

The weird thing is they were much better friends after the breakup. Blue was hands down his best friend even though they had almost nothing in common these days: Adam worked at Seondeok, Gansey and Greenmantle LLP and lived in a brand new high rise in Murray Hill, while Blue continued to work multiple jobs and do a scarily accurate impression of one of the characters from Rent.

But they understood each other. Probably better now than they had while they were dating. Adam and Blue both went after what they wanted and refused to take no for an answer. Blue cared about Adam not because of what he could buy her or do for her, but because he was there and he listened and he didn’t judge her for what she wanted out of life. And in return Blue made his life something more than just a work-sleep-work-sleep routine. She reminded him he was human and Adam felt ridiculously grateful for their friendship.

Since he and Blue had broken up he’d mostly done the casual hookup thing. Hence his presence in a club in Brooklyn that was somehow overfull and strangely empty at the same time. The tables around the edge were all full but the center of the room was largely bare except for a few groups of people grinding and making out to the beat of the DJ’s music.

Adam recognized a few people but there were more strangers than he expected. That was the thing about living in NYC: you could try to find your queer kinky niche but there would still be more people constantly rotating in and out than you could ever meet. Adam was here for the sex more than the friendships so the revolving door model didn’t bother him.

Still it meant there was always a layer of awkwardness. Cruising for a pickup, Adam was pretty sure, was awkward for everyone but somehow it was even harder to start a conversation when your first thought upon seeing someone under the dark red lights was: ‘You’d look good covered in bruises.’ Followed logically by: ‘Especially if I put them there.’

Adam hadn’t seen anyone who caught his eye in any case so he figured he’d check the back rooms to see if there were any interesting scenes getting played out and if not he’d just join the mass of people on what could only loosely be called a dance floor.

The first door he came across was closed, a fairly straightforward signal that the participants inside were not welcoming onlookers. The next room had a woman face down on a table with a second fat woman carefully inserting temporary piercings in a curved shape down her back. He chatted for a minute with the piercer before crouching down at the head of the table.

“How long have you been at this?” he asked the woman on the table.

Her eyes were blown wide but they focused on him just fine.

“Mmm, Michelle?” she asked the piercer, but she was busy with one of the needles and just hummed instead of answering. “I think about an hour so far.”

“How long do you usually go for?”

“I’ve never done a full back design before,” she said, smiling a little dopily, “but right now it feels like I could go on forever.”

“Well so far it looks great.” Adam said encouragingly and it was true, the needles in her skin made a fan shape over her shoulder blades and then were slowly coming together as Michelle went, giving the impression of foliage narrowing into a tree trunk.

Another guy had entered the room while Adam had been talking. As he made to exit however the guy followed him. Not right behind him, not close enough to be creepy, but definitely enough to be intentional. He found a single stool along the crowded but currently unattended bar and turned around to take a look at the guy.

His first thought was: _this guy is dangerous_. There was a lazily calculating look in his bright blue eyes. His face was all sharp angles and his body was all tightly cut lines. His expression said ‘I might bite, but you might like it.’ Thing was, Adam wasn’t really into getting bitten.

“Can I help you?” Adam said walking the line between ‘I don’t take shit’ and ‘I’m not a total douchebag’ because the thing was, even in the queer scene there were plenty of predatory cis guys. There was a reason some parties were women and trans people only. In a lot of ways Adam would have preferred those parties, except for the little detail that he himself didn’t qualify. Still letting in cis guys meant dealing with some overly pushy assholes sometimes and this guy had the look.

“I don’t know, can you?” He smirked like he knew something that Adam didn’t, which was one of the easiest ways to piss Adam off.

Adam gritted his teeth. He could see the rest of this conversation playing out. Adam saying he wasn't looking for a dom, the guy saying something about how he just hadn't met the right dom yet, Adam trying to extricate himself from the exchange. Someone ending up getting punched. At this point it was basically a done deal. But Adam sighed and gave it one more shot.

“Let’s try this again. I’m Adam.”

“Ronan.” he said, and as the shook hands Adam saw the orange cruising bracelet on his right wrist, above a gathered collection of leather bracelets. That wasn’t surprising, this club was known for its cruising system which let people easily advertise what they were looking for. The surprising thing was that it was on his _right_ wrist, which usually signaled a sub looking for a dom, and the orange color meant, more or less, ‘anything goes’. Before Adam could really get over his shock Ronan was already speaking. “Do you want to get out of here?”

* * *

 

Ronan had started the night sitting with Noah at a table against the wall. It had been a year and a half since he was last in a club like this and Ronan could feel the time like a weight, heavy in every bone of his body. Three years ago he would have known every face in this room. But now there were people he didn’t recognize and even the people who did look familiar didn't seem to recognize him. Noah said it was just the hair: everyone was used to the curls. Ronan thought it was the hair and the now-scarred eyebrow and the unconsciously sneering lip and the defensive posture, daring anyone to come too close. He knew what he must look like. He couldn't help it. There was a certain safety in isolation.

But, he reminded himself, he couldn’t stay safe forever. He’d been gone long enough, he wanted to be here, needed to be here desperately. He had gone to a couple regular clubs in the last few months but this was the first play party he’d gone to, and he’d come with _intent_.

He was leaving this shindig bloody, bruised, well-fucked or otherwise out of his goddamn head. But so far no one had caught his eye. Too femme, too tall, too imposing, not imposing enough. He knew he was being impossibly picky, Noah had already scoped out a good three people they were interested in talking to. But they were sitting here like a good friend, because they didn’t want to leave Ronan to sulk alone.

“Noah,” he said, trying to make it a sigh but having it coming out more of a growl, “just go. I’m a big boy I don’t need you to hold my hand. And that chick by the floggers has been eyeing you for like ten minutes.”

Noah didn’t ask if he was sure. Which Ronan deeply, deeply appreciated. Instead they just patted Ronan’s head comfortingly, the “I’m right here if you need me” implied, and headed off.

Ronan just sat for a minute, watching Noah and the woman hit it off. The problem with sitting alone at a place like this was that it was just _asking_ for someone to come up and try to chat. Which was the last thing Ronan wanted. If something was going to happen tonight it would be on his terms. So he drew his easy “fuck you and everything you stand for, you loathsome dickstick” face over his already imposing physical presence and sat comfortably undisturbed for a while.

Then Ronan’s eye caught on someone who’d just walked in. He was dressed in black slacks and a mesh long sleeved shirt that showed off a slim physique. But mostly Ronan was distracted by his face.

He had to be one of the most beautiful people Ronan had ever seen. Usually when you surpassed a certain bar in terms of attractiveness, it began to work against you. Ronan couldn’t count the number of model types who were practically repulsive in their attractiveness. Because, and this may have been his own strange mental hang-up, but usually hot people just looked like total _assholes_. Something about a given level of hotness just _screamed_ ‘I’m a huge dick’.

That was typical for Ronan. Hot guy? Probably a dick.

This one was different. He looked like an art nouveau interpretation of a classical statue, like any second flowers would spring from beneath his feet and vines would curl themselves protectively around his long slim fingers. He wasn’t just beautiful, he was a touch strange too. Just a hint otherworldly and almost, yes, Ronan realized, most definitely, this man looked dangerous.

And that more than anything was what pushed Ronan out of his seat and had him following the man into one of the back rooms. Well, the danger combined with a not-insignificant self-destructive streak.

By the time he’d made it across the room, Ronan was dry mouthed and sweating. He reminded himself that he came here with a _purpose_. This was what he _wanted_.

The man was talking softly to… was that Tonya? He couldn’t be sure from this angle but that did look like Michelle in the latex gloves and they usually played together so it was possible.

Ronan almost chickened out right then. Or perhaps ‘chickened out’ was the wrong word, perhaps the correct phrase would’ve been ‘came to his senses.’ Either way, it almost happened right then. And then he registered the careful smile on the guy’s face as he talked to Tonya, registered how he was crouched down so she didn’t have to move or strain herself to talk to him. And that silenced whatever logical voice was clamoring in his mind.

Ronan followed the guy out, back into the main room and over to the unstaffed bar. He took a seat and turned to face Ronan.

Ronan saw the look that passed over the guy's face: condescending, skeptical, maybe a little unnerved. Sometimes Ronan hated being a guy, hated exuding menace and danger even when he wasn't trying. This wasn't gonna work. He almost turned away.

“Can I help you?” the guy asked and it was to the point, edging into belligerent and promised that regardless of first impressions he was not going to back down. Ronan could appreciate all of that, even the belligerence.

“I don't know, can you?” Ronan smirked, going for flirtatious but ending up just sounding like an idiot.

The guy looked annoyed for a minute and Ronan could already see the rest of the night unfolding: hot guy walking away, Ronan sitting watching Noah get flogged to within an inch of his life and wishing he'd brought beer or wishing even more for one of K’s pills.

But then the other man sighed, and held out his hand.

“Let's try this again. I'm Adam.”

Ronan gulped back a stupid rush of gratitude.

“Ronan,” he said, taking Adam’s hand, suddenly sharply aware of how sweaty his own palm was. “Do you want to get out of here?”

And shit, shit that was definitely not what he meant to say. Because he didn’t know this guy, Adam, from… well, from Adam. And he certainly didn’t trust him enough to take him home, to show him The Brownstone, or honestly to even be alone with the guy. He knew by far the safest way to do a scene would be to stay here, where Noah or one of the volunteers could intervene.

“You’re looking for a dom? For a scene?” He sounded very surprised and two things hit Ronan at once.

One: he’d never seen this guy before, from the way Michelle looked at him she didn’t know him either. Someone this hot would have been immediately snapped up by a dozen waiting play partners if he had been in the scene for longer than a second. So, by all reckonings, he was probably a brand spanking new dom, too green to tie his own shoelaces much less a square knot.

And two, Ronan didn’t give a shit if it was dangerous. He’d played it safe for a year and a half. This guy was new, which presented its challenges, but it also meant he didn’t know Ronan’s reputation or hang-ups, didn’t have any expectations, and probably didn’t know enough to properly fuck him over. If Ronan was the more experienced one here, he had the power, at least to a point. He could deal with that.

* * *

 

 “You’re looking for a dom? For a scene?” Adam asked, still catching up on the swift change in expectations.

“Yup, you up for it?” It was cocky but not unbearably so. Adam found it confusing: this guy following him around, acting like kind of an asshole, and yet asking to go home with him, for Adam to dom him.

Then something occurred to. Maybe Ronan was one of those ‘act out so he can be punished’ types. The ones who purposely tried to rile up their doms. Adam had witnessed shit like that a few times, it didn’t really do it for him.

Still, he found himself asking: “Did you have something in mind?”

“Something you haven’t done before,” he said, smiling.

“How do you know what I’ve done before?” Adam asked warily.

“I don’t,” Ronan said, as if that was the point.

So he wasn’t angling for something in particular. Adam could appreciate spontaneity but honestly half the fun for him was the negotiation, making sure they were both on the same page.

“If we do this, we do it my way,” he said, still not quite sure why he wasn’t sending Ronan on his merry way alone. But something about the dangerous eyes and the lazy smirk was enticing. If Adam was honest with himself, he kind of wanted to dom this guy, just to see if he could.

So, he made a choice.

* * *

 

 “If we do this, we do it my way.” Adam said, and _yes exactly_.

“That’s kind of the point, yeah.” Adam gave him a weird look at that. But Ronan felt the adrenaline come easy now, fizzing like champagne in his gut, the prospect of pain, of pleasure, of riding the high of subspace into next fucking week if he could manage it. “Is that a yes?”

There was a pause and Ronan’s gut clenched; it was too early for Adam to be playing mind games. But perhaps he was just thinking because after a moment he nodded and stood up.

Ronan hadn’t realized how close he had been leaning until Adam stood up. It impressed him that Adam hadn’t been intimidated by the unintentional looming. For a rookie he certainly had balls.

Adam picked up his jacket from the coat room on his way out, a sleek black pea coat. Ronan himself just took his beanie out of his inside jacket pocket and pulled it on as they exited the club.

This venue, like most of the clubs chosen for these kind of get-togethers, was a little off the beaten path so there were no cabs in sight when they got out onto the curb.

It was close enough that they could probably walk to The Brownstone. But yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. So he fell into step beside Adam as they walked toward a busier street.

“Yours or mine?” Adam asked after half a block in silence.

“Yours,” Ronan replied emphatically.

They grabbed a cab and Adam gave an address in Midtown. Ronan filed that away. In New York where you lived said a lot about you.

The apartment, when they got there, was on the 7th floor of an absolute eyesore of a new high rise. Ronan tried to reserve full judgment until he saw the inside of the place but it was hard.

The inside, as it turned out, was just as bad: sleek minimalist couches and hard backed dining chairs. It was the kind of place that was meant to be seen, not lived in. Ronan was doubly, triply glad he hadn’t brought Adam back to The Brownstone.

He refused to be cowed by the soullessness of the place. He took off his beanie and shoved it in his pocket and shrugged off his jacket, threw it on the couch before dropping his boots on the floor by the door and tossing himself onto the other – yup, could have guessed that – very uncomfortable couch.

Then he turned and watched Adam, who had just finished putting his shoes and jacket away in the closet by the door. Adam paused only for the briefest seconds before holding up a hand.

“Wait here,” he said before disappearing down the hall. Ronan texted Noah to let him know where he was. Just in case. It was stupid, if this guy tried to fight him Ronan could probably kick his ass. But still. Just in case.  Adam returned quickly with, of all things, paperwork.

“If you’ve got business shit to do, I can leave.” Ronan said, gesturing to the door.

“They’re for us, dumbass.”

And then he handed over three sheets of paper, keeping the rest for himself. Ronan glanced at them, long enough to see “Yes” “Maybe” “No” and “Additional Comments” along the top and a grid underneath. Along the left side of the paper was an alphabetized list of kinks starting with “Anal Sex” and ending with “Exhibitionism”. Quickly he looked over the other two pages, which seemed to cover the rest of the alphabet.

“Are you serious?” he asked, caught between laughter and annoyance. God, how green was this kid?

“It’s not as bad as it looks. Three pages go by quick. And if you don’t want to do all of them you can just fill in the answers for the definite ‘yes’s and ‘no’s.”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

Adam raised an eyebrow and there was some steel in his tone when he replied.

* * *

 

“We agreed we’d do it my way. My way requires you to fill this out,” Adam said, in his best ‘as your lawyer I know what’s best for you’ voice and then he bent over the checklist and started writing.

He got as far as Barebacking (“Yes” then, “if we’ve both been tested”) before he realized Ronan wasn’t moving. He set the papers back down on his knees.

“Yes?” Adam asked.

“This is stupid.”

“Making sure we’re both on the same page is stupid?“

Ronan sighed and rolled his eyes; it made him look like a sulky teenager.

"You should just do what you like.”

“Kind of the whole point is to do things we both like."

From the bulge of his jaw Adam could guess that Ronan was gritting his teeth.

"I like pain, and I like being told what to do. If what you want includes that, I’ll be fine.”

“So you’re trying to tell me you don’t have any hard limits? Nothing I should know about before we start?”

“I’ve got limits but that’s what a fucking safeword is for.” There was something shadowed and stubborn on Ronan’s face and Adam wasn’t really sure how far to push this. “It just seems stupid that I have to fill out a fucking form when I don’t even know if I like your… you know, _style_. You can negotiate all you want, but it won’t change anything if you’re a shitty fucking dom.”

Adam took a deep breath against the swell of anger. The very last thing you wanted to be when you were domming was angry. “Okay,” he said, “say we have one scene, just to test each other out. If we click, you go home, fill out the _form_ , and we go from there. If we don’t click, you never have to see me again. Either way I’ve got a non-disclosure agreement in my desk which you can sign before or after the scene. Does that sound acceptable?"

Some people balked at the NDA but Adam was pretty set on it with most hookups. Blue kept him with one foot firmly in the quirky, queer, ‘anything goes’ community but he was aware that he could get fired if it got out what he did in his free time. (It wouldn’t be legal, of course, the firing, but if Adam knew anything he knew all the ways the law fell short.) So yeah, the NDA was pretty much non-negotiable.

But Ronan didn’t seem bothered by that, just narrowed his eyes a little.

“Okay. I’ll sign it now.”

“Great.” Adam said, and got up to grab it from his desk. When he got back Ronan was standing up, halfway between the couch and the TV, fiddling with his phone, seeing Adam he quickly sat back down, and then tried his best to look nonchalant about the whole thing. Adam suspected from the jumpiness that it’d been too long since Ronan had last done this.

Adam set the papers on the coffee table, and he and Ronan both signed them.

“Do you want your copy?” Adam asked.

Ronan looked at him warily for a moment.

“Yeah, I do.” He took the copy Adam handed him and carefully tucked it away in the pocket of his jacket lying beside him on the couch.

“Cool. So what’s your safeword?”

“Glendower,” Ronan said, smirking a little to himself. It was a nice expression on his otherwise closed off face.

“Okay, if you say ‘Glendower’ we stop. And you wanted to do something I’d never done before. Anything I’m forgetting?”

Ronan looked surprised that Adam had remembered what he had said back at the club. Then his expression went blank.

“We keep pants on.” It wasn’t a question, except for the hands balled into fists at his knees and the challenging slant of his chin.

It wasn’t what Adam was expecting. But he could work with it.

“Sure, that’s fine.” He waited a second in case Ronan had anything else he wanted to say. Instead he just crossed his arms over his chest. And that was enough of that. “Take off your shirt.”

* * *

 

“Take off your shirt.” The command was gentle, as far as they go. This guy had some natural talent but probably wasn’t used to telling people what to do.

It only took a moment for Ronan to process the order and begin to move. He took off his shirt and left it on top of his jacket on the couch.

“Kneel over here behind the couch,” Adam said, indicating a spot of hardwood floor between the living room and the kitchen that had been left artfully empty. Ronan couldn’t trust someone who didn’t have at least some clutter. But then, he reminded himself, that was exactly what he was doing. He was trusting this guy he’d just met even though he knew exactly how badly it could go wrong. Because he was a stupid son of a bitch.

Still, he was a stupid son of a bitch with some goddamn follow-through, so he knelt where he’d been told. And then he didn’t move, didn’t look around, tried to fit himself back into a mindset that had once been as familiar as The Brownstone. Obey.

He couldn’t help but pay attention to the sound of Adam crossing the room, opening the closet. And suddenly he knew. Adam was going to get his coat and leave. And Ronan didn’t know why. Maybe he’d done something wrong. Maybe Adam was going to get his friends so they could have some fun together. Maybe… no.

No.

He didn’t need to stay here. There was nothing keeping him here. He could get up and leave as soon as Adam walked out. He was already preparing himself, ready to stand up ( _against permission, he hadn’t said Ronan could go_ ) when the closet door shut and Adam’s footsteps came back toward him.

And then, before Ronan could catch up there was soft fabric covering his eyes and he snorted because this guy was using a fucking _scarf_ as a blindfold. God, he couldn’t decide which of them was more of a clusterfuck in this situation.

“Can you hold your hands behind your back for me?” Adam asked. And Ronan did it without thinking, but wanted to laugh.

“Let me guess. Now you’re gonna go for the fuzzy pink handcuffs,” he said, and most doms would have smacked him for speaking out of turn, especially to make fun of them. But apparently this guy hadn’t got the memo.

“Close. I do need to go get some things. Stay where you are.” But then, before he walked away, he paused. “Oh, and one other thing.”

And shit, shit apparently Adam was just the type to wait a second for punishment.

He put a hand on Ronan’s shoulder and Ronan was ready to get pushed to the floor, tried not to brace, tried not to follow the instinct to pull his hands out to soften his fall because that would only make it worse. But instead of a shove, Adam’s hand steadied him and then with his foot gently kicked Ronan’s feet out from under him while pushing down, again gently, on his shoulder. It was a tiny shift, from kneeling up to sitting on his feet. And Ronan couldn’t help but make a little noise of relief that he wasn’t face down against the hardwood right now.

“Oh,” he said snottily, trying not to feel thankful for this small kindness, and maybe pushing now just to see how far Adam would let him go, “so you’re gonna micromanage too. That’s just great.”

Adam didn’t do anything. Just said, “Stay,” and walked down the hall further into the apartment.

Now Ronan had nothing to focus on but his current position. In the dark, on his knees, hands behind his back. Vulnerable. But in an odd twist of events: completely in his right mind. It was strange to feel floor under his knees and one wrist grasped tightly in the other hand without also being drunk enough to sway or high enough to forget why he couldn’t see and suddenly worry that maybe he’d gone blind. It was surprisingly pleasant this way.

Still, this position was not the most comfortable and his ankles hurt from being pressed into the hardwood. Not enough to get endorphins rushing, just enough to be annoying. Eventually Adam walked back into the room.

“Took you long enough.” Ronan said, even though it could only have been a few minutes.

Adam knelt behind him by the sound of it and Ronan heard the familiar whisper of rope before feeling it against his skin. He’d always liked rope, liked being bound, but still the visceral reaction to not being able to move hit him more strongly that he would have expected. “What’s the problem, don’t trust me?” Ronan said, just for something to do with his mouth other than bite his lip until it bled. When there was no response it stung. Because of course Adam didn’t trust him, he didn’t even know him, and if he did know him he probably still wouldn’t trust him. Ronan hadn’t earned that. He forced out a snort. “That’s what I thought.”

But then Adam tucked his fingers between Ronan’s now bound hands. And Ronan felt cold suddenly, couldn’t stop the shiver, because clearly this guy was some kind of psycho murderer. Who else went and picked up guys, tied them up, and then tried to _hold hands_? Ronan was so dead.

He heard the clack of a keyboard which was an out of place sound. Before he could come up with what to say to that (maybe: ‘am I boring you?’) large headphones slipped over his ears and suddenly he couldn’t hear anything.

No, that wasn’t true.

“ _Wow_ ,” sarcasm covering the way his heart was pounding, “white noise. Exciting.” Because the thing was now he couldn’t see or hear, couldn’t move, couldn’t follow instructions, couldn’t tell when Adam was going to hurt him. Maybe _now_ Adam would leave, would just leave him in the noisy silence, in the dark.

He started to rock, partially because his feet had gone beyond burning and into numbness, and partially because he was trying not to panic.

But he was rewarded with Adam’s hands on his biceps, stilling him, and that calmed him down, just knowing Adam was still there.

“My feet are falling asleep, asshole,” he said, and then kept talking because the act of speaking, even speaking out of turn, was soothing, “I get it. You’re trying to bore me into subspace.” God, he _wished_ his brain would calm the fuck down enough to let him either a) get bored or even better b) get into subspace. “That’s great, working real well. Glad we had boring paperwork as boredom foreplay.”

Adam had clearly been pretty serious about that fucking paperwork so mocking it was probably going too far, but since when had Ronan ever stayed within the limits.

But no punishment was forthcoming. Adam just slowly traced his hands across Ronan’s shoulders and chest. It was strange and Ronan didn’t like it. Especially when Adam touched one of the oldest scars, just beneath his peck and Ronan shied away. Shit, he knew. Adam knew and Ronan hadn’t told him and he would be angry, shit shit shit.

But Adam just brushed his hands over Ronan’s shoulders before taking up residence behind him. Still touching him, still with that strange gentleness, Adam traced the lines of his tattoo. Ronan forced himself to sit still but he didn’t know what to _do_ with this. It felt dangerous in a way Ronan hadn’t experienced in a long time. In his experience gentleness was almost always part of a cycle that ended with him tearing himself apart trying to get back to the _good times_.

How dare Adam treat him like he was special, like this whole experience was pure or meaningful? It wasn’t. It wasn’t anything. And pretending otherwise was just some kind of fucked up way to get into his head.

“Look,” Ronan said, and he hated, _hated_ how his voice sounded. “Just do something already.” He sounded weak, like he was _begging_. And he knew how that story ended.

But Adam didn’t seem to get it. Didn’t seem to know that if he just kept doing what he was doing, kept pushing, it wouldn’t take long for Ronan to fucking break. Adam was blessedly inexperienced so he didn’t hear how close Ronan was to the raggedy fucking edge. And so, in his ignorance, he gave him exactly what he wanted.

Lines of fire burned down his back and the pain felt like redemption, like there was a chance he’d make it out of here in one piece, still cracked in all the same places he’d been when he walked in, but not totally split apart.

He didn’t even realize he was talking until he said, “-that’s what I want.” And it was so true. He’d forgotten how clear, how cleansing the pain could be.

But it wasn’t enough. He needed more.

The next time he registered something Adam must have moved in front of him because there were hands under his armpits and strong arms pulling him to his feet and then _yes_ , there was more.

“Oww, shit,” he gasped as his legs protested the change in position. His feet exploded from precarious numbness into tingling, cramping, aching life. Adam kept his hands on Ronan, steadying him. Without thinking it through he started moving his feet, trying to work feeling into them even as it made him feel clumsy and fragile.

Then he stopped, when he realized he hadn’t been told to do that and wouldn’t be able to hear if Adam told him to stop. But with a hand on the back of his neck and Adam’s nails digging in soothingly he shuddered back into careful movement.

It still hurt, as Adam pressed Ronan’s head into his shoulder. But it wasn’t sharp, sudden pain, not like a whip or a paddle even. It was a dozen tiny pinpricks of feeling that were almost too soft to be pain, but just painful enough to be set his head buzzing pleasantly. He couldn’t help the little noises he made between clenched teeth as the pain slowly subsided.

“I’ve never liked pins and needles before,” Ronan said into the darkness. It bothered him less that he didn’t get an answer than it had a few minutes ago. Everything felt a little less terrible now that he’d got a taste of the thing that made it all worth it.

Adam shifted his hands back to Ronan’s biceps and guided him back to the floor, leaning forward this time to keep the weight off of his feet and mostly on Adam’s shoulder. Then there was a pause and Ronan came back to himself enough to worry that he was doing something wrong. Was he too heavy? Was Adam telling him to do something that he couldn’t hear? Adam shifted oddly and Ronan scrambled to try and interpret the movement. But before he could figure it out Adam was lowering him the rest of the way to the floor with a soft fabric between his face and the cold hardwood. By the smell it was Ronan’s own jacket and he felt stupidly comforted. His father had given him that jacket and despite all the shitty things it had seen him through, it still smelled like The Brownstone, like _home_.

“What now?” he asked, mostly because he liked the way his voice rebounded in his head even though he couldn’t hear the words out loud. He hummed just to hear the buzz between his ears, how it mixed pleasantly with the white noise. He knew he was being stupid. He shouldn’t be this far down already, barely anything had happened yet. But it had been so long and there was something so soothing about giving up control, about letting his mind drift while someone else controlled what happened to him.

After a few moments resting in the darkness, occasionally wiggling his gently tingling toes, Ronan felt a weight settle in the center of his back. It was cool but not cold, substantial but not heavy. He felt Adam’s thigh brush against his side and he relaxed into whatever was coming next.

So the heat hit him just as he had taken a deep breath in. It punched the air out of him and he quickly sucked in more. It was real heat this time, not just his body turning blood rushing to the surface into warmth in his nerve endings. Ronan knew what wax felt like as it spilled and pooled around the candle.

Time slid sideways a little. The wax moved very slowly and yet he wasn’t really keeping track of anything until the fresh waves of pain stopped coming and instead there were gentle pressure and the slight scratch of Adam’s nails peeling the wax back off his skin. And as it pulled the fine hairs from his skin, it also felt as though it was taking a layer of dirt and debris with it; it was cleansing.

The candle was set back down on Ronan’s left shoulder blade and then his right and the pain bloomed like a flower opening across his back. Ronan wished he could see it, could see his body so beautifully marked. But Adam was apparently fastidious because he peeled all the wax off and left Ronan feeling hot, smooth and new.

By now he was floating pleasantly within his own skin. It was like lying at the bottom of a swimming pool, heavy pressure keeping him grounded and yet an internal lightness, a buoyancy.

“Phew,” Ronan said, imagining the bubbles rising from his exhalation. “’S that all you’ve got?”

It was quiet at the bottom of the pool. In his ears he could hear the pound of his own steady heartbeat and the gentle rush of the water filter. No one was there. And yet, Adam was there. Adam was the water, all around him, holding him, keeping him safe.

And then there was a shock, a bright sharp, aching pain that brought him crashing back into his own body. It burned as it hit the overheated skin of his back and he moaned because it was ice and it was Adam touching him and he was in Adam’s apartment and everything felt fuzzy except for the ice slowly melting off his back and shoulder blades and slipping down his sides to pool beneath him on the floor.

He was so _fucking_ turned on. He couldn’t help but move his hips, looking for friction, for pressure.

His breaths were coming in huge gulps and as the chill set in he began to shiver. But the ice, as it melted, was not replaced, so eventually he was just lying in darkness on a wet floor listening to the white noise playing though the headphones.

And then Adam pulled the headphones off and Ronan fit himself neatly back into his body.

“How are you feeling?” Adam asked, voice light and fingers delicate at the knot of the makeshift blindfold.

 Ronan hummed, pleased somehow that Adam thought to ask.

“I’ve been worse,” he said, and then wondered about Adam. If this was his first or nearly first scene, he did remarkably well. “And yourself?” he asked, turning to look at Adam once the blindfold was gone.

He swam into focus and looked calm, held Ronan’s gaze as he spoke.

“I’m doing pretty good.”

Ronan bit back a smile as Adam moved around to start untying the rope around his wrists. He suspected calling Adam out on his inexperience now, even if it was in the form of a compliment, would just make him defensive so Ronan said nothing.

As the ropes fell away Ronan wiggled his fingers against the light brush of Adam’s hands. Then, before Adam took that as an invitation to try that whole ‘hand holding’ thing again, Ronan tucked his arms under his jacket and rested his head on them.

“I’m going to go grab some things. I’ll only be a sec.”

It didn’t sound like a dismissal and Ronan really didn’t feel like moving yet, so he just remained on the floor and listened to the gentle sound of Adam’s footsteps retreating.

That had been, quite frankly, incredible. And it felt so perfect and freeing and exciting it was almost like discovering kink all over again, but also like finding his way back to an old friend. Just, now with some baggage, Ronan thought.

He didn’t hear Adam come back in, but he was brought back to the present moment by a soft towel dabbing at the water pooled on his back. God, who _was_ this guy?

“Damn,” he said, voice strangled around a suppressed laugh, “getting the five-star treatment here.”

Adam didn’t have anything to say to that. Maybe embarrassed at going so overboard? But he continued to dry Ronan off and Ronan let him, feeling bubbling amusement combining with the already fizzy feeling in his chest.

“Can you stand?” Adam asked.

“You sure think a lot of yourself, champ.” He tried to use the same tone of voice his father used to use on Declan: fond but ever so slightly condescending, just to put him in his place.

But then, embarrassingly, he did sway slightly as he stood and had to grab the back of the couch for support. He kept a steadying hand on the couch as he walked around the side and sat to put on his shirt. Then he remembered his jacket was still on the floor.

Before he could get up, Adam spoke, “I’ll get it. Drink this,” and handed a glass of water to him over the back of the couch. Ronan drank gladly; he’d forgotten how much a scene could take out of you.

Adam came around with his jacket and sat on the opposing couch, handing it over easily when Ronan reached for it. Everything was so easy. It almost made Ronan wary with its simplicity. He wanted the jacket back on, the familiar tough, dark second skin. But before he could pull it on, Adam interrupted him.

“Wait.” Ronan paused. “Could you- it’s cold out and I’m sure normally you care more about your aesthetic than actually being warm, but just humor me and- put this on?” And with that Adam held out what was obviously a homemade sweater in forest green.

If this was some territorial bullshit like Adam wanting to ‘mark what was his’ Ronan was going to come out of this exchange swinging. But there was no shadow in Adam’s expression, no heat in his face, if anything he looked… concerned. Honest. Trustworthy. Who _the fuck_ was this guy?

So, on a whim, Ronan took the sweater and pulled it on.

“Any last requests?” Ronan asked, trying to make it clear that this surrender was purely an example of Ronan humoring him.

“Want a Fig Newton?” Adam asked in return, holding out a handful of the healthy snacks that Ronan hadn’t eaten since he was a child.

“Sure, I’ll take a couple for the road.” Ronan took some and, upon smelling them and realizing how hungry he was, started eating one as he stood.

“Wait,” Adam said, “let me give you my email, in case you want to do this again.”

And there were those beginner nerves again. Any seasoned dom would have known that scene had blown Ronan’s mind and he’d definitely be back for more. But Adam didn’t seem to notice. It was almost cute.

Ronan shrugged and sat as Adam wrote something on his contract before tearing off the corner and handing it over. But before Ronan could leave, Adam said something else.

“I get it,” ‘oh, do you?’ Ronan wanted to ask, “you don’t want to talk now. You probably just want to be alone, but if you decide you want to try this again we should meet to debrief beforehand.”

And maybe the whole coy routine was an act. Because that sure as hell sounded like a demand. Ronan wasn’t a fan of that, even if it was, maybe, a reasonable thing to ask for.

He just turned and went to put on his boots. But rather than putting distance between them, Adam followed. And Ronan was abruptly aware and deeply unamused by the role reversal from earlier in the night, when it had been Ronan following Adam around the club.

“What are you doing?” Ronan asked, when Adam put on his own shoes and shadowed Ronan all the way to the door.

“Just making sure you get in a cab safe.” Adam said, and if that wasn’t the most obvious cover for trying to find out where he lived, Ronan didn’t know what it was.

“I got it,” he said coolly, before slipping out the door and heading for the elevator, listening carefully for Adam’s footsteps following him. But he heard nothing and when he turned around in the elevator Adam’s door was still closed. He let his shoulders relax and he noticed for the first time how comfortable the sweater was on his bare arms.

He didn’t let himself think beyond that until he was safely in a cab headed toward The Brownstone. But as his mind began to run over the scene, and especially the conversation afterward, he begrudgingly admitted to himself that he might not have been giving Adam the benefit of the doubt the way he should. It was, he supposed, possible that Adam had just wanted to be a – _ugh_ – gentleman, and walk Ronan out to a cab.

He refused to feel guilty about that. It wasn’t good for a dom to have their every whim catered to outside a scene, Ronan reasoned. And it wasn’t Ronan’s fault that he was going home to a place that actually felt like a home, whereas Adam was stuck in that bleak, minimalist, coffin of an apartment.

Still, he pulled out the scrap of paper and looked at the cramped, careful writing in the light of the passing streetlights all the way home.


	2. how do you feel? 'cause I feel fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The link in this chapter is to an actual kink checklist that, while not exactly the same as the one described in chapter one, gives you an idea of what kinds of things would be on that list, if you're interested.

Ronan would not call Calla Johnson a typical therapist. For one thing her services were billed as “Psychic Assisted Life Advisor and Counselor” and she ran the office with two fellow psychics-cum-busybodies. Normally Ronan would have turned up his nose at all that mystic bullshit but they had come highly recommended from Gansey. Gansey, who believed in psychics and ley lines and sleeping kings, but also Gansey, who had had mild to severe PTSD featuring frequent panic attacks since he was ten. So if Gansey said the women of 300 Fredrick Douglas were good therapists, Ronan was going to believe him.

And Calla was a good therapist. At least, she was good for Ronan. She was good for him because she didn’t take his bullshit. She snorted when he tried to lie, she glared at him when he fell grimly silent and she called him an idiot when he was, in fact, being an idiot. It was a tough-but-fair approach that worked well for Ronan even if it had been one hell of an adjustment period. He still tried it sometimes, the lying or just obfuscating, the silence and the stubbornness. But he had found over the past year that if he opened up to Calla she could actually help him. And thank god she’d never tried that psychic crap with him.

“You met someone,” was the first thing she said when he came in for his appointment on Monday morning.

“How did you know that?” he asked, wary because there was no time like the present to start in with the mumbo jumbo.

“You live in New York City, chicklet, you can’t get from your apartment to my office without running into a character.” Somehow when she said ‘chicklet’ it was less a term of endearment and more a dig at how easily he let his feathers get ruffled.

“So it was a guess.”

“Is an educated guess really a guess? Or is it just applied knowledge?”

“Whatever.” Ronan said, rolling his eyes and settling down in the hideously orange chair by the corner. For the psychic half of her services Calla sat at a large table with various pieces of kitschy crap like candles and tarot cards and crystals of varying sizes. There was a small desk beside her where she rested her notepad and her ever-present coffee.

The nice thing about the orange chair was that when Ronan sat in it, Calla wasn’t facing him directly; she was facing the table and the door beyond it. Occasionally she would rifle through the deck of tarot cards in front of her, playing with them, arranging them into various shapes on the table as Ronan talked. Which seemed to make it abundantly obvious to Ronan that the whole ‘let me read the cards’ thing was bullshit; they were just a prop for idle hands. Even more occasionally she would turn to look at him or to jot something down on her notepad. But for the most part Ronan was left talking to the side of her face, which was somehow much easier than trying to look her in the eyes.

“Anyway,” he said, once he was settled and had dropped his messenger bag beside the orange monstrosity. “You were right. I met a guy. I picked him up at a party on Saturday.”

“What kind of party?”

“You know what kind of party. Don’t be a bitch.”

“Then don’t play coy, asshole.”

“Fine. I picked up a guy at a BDSM party on Saturday then I went over to his apartment and he tied me up and hurt me.” That was the other thing about Calla’s approach that worked for Ronan: sometimes it was easier to say things when he was angry. “And I liked it,” he spat, because he knew that was going to be her next question.

“Liked it like a taco? Or liked it like hanging out with Gansey? Or maybe liked it like you like getting high?”

“It's not the same. I've been sober for over a year, just because I used to go under while I was high doesn't mean they're the same.”

“No but it could be a trigger. Something to put you back in self-destruct mode.”

“Do I look like I'm self-destructing to you?” Ronan snapped, gesturing at himself. Calla didn't look over, she just flipped a card off the top of her deck and sat quietly for a moment.

“No, you don't.” And then, as if the matter was settled or her worries were assuaged, she moved on. “What was his name?”

“Adam.”

She flipped over another card and hummed a snatch of song, although it was impossible to tell what song because she was completely tone deaf.

“Are you going to see him again?”

“I don't know. I wanted to talk about that.”

“Did you like him?” She held up a hand to silence him before he'd even fully opened his mouth. “I know you said you liked _it_ , but did you like _him_?”

“I don't know. He was a good dom, especially for someone without much experience. But he wanted to play mind games.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He wanted to know everything about me beforehand, every turn on and turn off. Like hell I’m gonna just tell someone I don't know all that shit.”

“Why do you think he asked for that information?”

Ronan paused. He knew his gut instinct, knew why the whole exchange had made him uncomfortable at the time. But he'd also been in therapy long enough to reflect somewhat on how irrational it was.

“Speak up, kid.” Calla said before taking a sip of coffee.

“He wanted to know so he could use it against me.” Ronan said sulkily.

“Is everyone you meet is out to take advantage of you?”

“No. But-” He cut himself off. Calla pointedly sipped her coffee, letting him stew. “But there are people out there who would use it against me. I know there are. They might even be more prominent in the kink community than in the general population.”

“Or at least in the BDSM scene their abuse often goes unnoticed for longer. I'm not going to argue with that.” Calla said, finally putting down her coffee cup. “Was there anything that gave you the impression that Adam wanted to do you serious harm? Did he violate boundaries? Did you even _set_ any boundaries?”

“Of course I set boundaries.” Ronan said defensively, thinking about how Adam had wanted to know more about his hard limits and Ronan had avoided the question. “I said we had to keep our pants on.”

“Ahhhh…” Calla said, shuffling her deck. It was probably meant to sound shrewd but instead it sounded condescending.

“Shut up. It’s not like that. I wasn’t lying to him.”

“I never said you were. You’re not required to disclose every piece of information about your past or your identity as soon as you meet someone.”

“But I think I should tell him.”

“So you do want to meet him again.” She didn’t even have the decency to phrase it like a question.

“Fuck. I don’t know. I guess. He didn’t do anything I didn’t like. He didn’t try to take advantage of me while I was too out of it to care. He seemed very keen on communication, before and after. Which, _I_ _guess_ , isn’t a bad thing.”

“We've talked about your trust issues before. I think making new connections could be good for you.” Ronan hated the term ‘trust issues’; it implied there was something wrong with not trusting people. But it was a compromise from what Calla used to say which was “paranoia, no matter how understandable is still paranoia”.

There was silence as Ronan thought and Calla played with her cards.

“He had this checklist he wanted me to fill out. Like all my kinks and shit like that. Hard and soft limits.”

“Which he is going to use not to accommodate you, but to purposely traumatize you?” Calla asked. The downside about opening up to a therapist, especially one like Calla, is that they were more than willing to throw all your deeply illogical and unhealthy thoughts right back at you so you could see how crazy they were.

“It's possible isn't it?” he said, mostly because he didn't like to admit defeat.

“We can't live our lives assuming we're going to fall victim to every possible disaster. We have to weigh risks and opportunity costs.” Calla said, turning to look at him. “For every person you meet there is a small chance that they could end up betraying your trust. So should you never trust another person ever again? Or go further, never meet anyone? Never leave your house?”

“I tried that.” Ronan admitted, because she already knew that for three months he'd had food delivered to The Brownstone and only communicated with Matthew and Noah via text.

“I know. What did you think of it?”

“Well I got a book out of it.”

It had pretty much been the only thing he'd been able to do in his self-maintained isolation. He had written and written and finally got something to show for it.

“That's true. You wrote a book. And now you're editing it for publication and tell me something: does it seem like the product of joy? From what you've told me it's a story about a teenage boy leaving his abusive father's home and finding himself trapped in a bargain with a terrifying fae being. Is there hope there? Is it the kind of story you'd want your brother to read?”

“No. Never,” he said, because he knew he couldn't lie to her, “not the way it is was. I rewrote the entire ending just so it wasn't a depressing piece of garbage.”

Calla just looked at him, dark eyes kind even while her expression was unforgiving.

“Fine,” Ronan said after a brief staring contest, “I don't want to do that again. I want to meet new people. I want to trust that not everyone is out to get me. I want to see Adam again.”

“Hmm.” Calla said, and Ronan chose to interpret the sound as approving. “Now tell me about this new ending?” she asked, and the conversation moved on.

After his appointment Ronan went to a coffee shop instead of home. The Brownstone would feel like a trap right now, like a step backwards. He had his computer with him, he could work on his novel but talking to Calla had gotten him motivated to reach out to Adam. And, although he hadn’t admitted it to her, he’d been carrying Adam’s contact info with him since Saturday, in case he got up the nerve to talk to him.

So he sent an email.

 

To: [adamlparrish@gmail.com](mailto:adamlparrish@gmail.com)

From: [greyraven@hotmail.com](mailto:greyraven@hotmail.com)

Subject: Boring Paperwork

  hey it’s ronan from saturday night. if you still want to do this shit you should send me that checklist and some times you can meet to ‘debrief’.

 

He got a response less than an hour later.

 

From: [adamlparrish@gmail.com](mailto:adamlparrish@gmail.com)

Re: Boring Paperwork

  Good to hear from you, I hope the rest of your weekend went well. Here’s a link to the checklist I showed you on Saturday: <http://thatotherpaper.com/files/Yes_No_Maybe.pdf> I’m pretty busy later in the week, but I could do tomorrow lunch or Wednesday late dinner (don’t usually get out of the office before 7:30). Did you have somewhere in mind? There’s a coffee shop near my office, it’s usually not too busy after the morning rush and I know one of the servers so we’d be sure to get privacy. Still, if you’re not comfortable discussing this in a public place we can do either my place or yours. Whatever works for you.

-Adam

 

From: [greyraven@hotmail.com](mailto:greyraven@hotmail.com)

Re: Re: Boring Paperwork

  yeah that’s fine lets do the coffee shop at 12:30 tomorrow, I’ll text you so you can send me the address.

 

And then he started filling out the checklist. Some things were easy: tattooing, _no_ ; pain (mild to severe), _yes_. Then there were a lot of ‘maybe’s: eye contact restrictions, nipple play, role playing scenes. And then there were some that he just left blank, didn’t even know how to respond to, could barely read (‘play kidnapping’) or made him laugh silently to himself (‘food play (cucumbers, sorbet, etc.)’ _what_?).

The wording was carefully neutral, not implying anything about the either participant or that one person should necessarily be giving or receiving certain types of play. Ronan appreciated that even though his stomach was still tense by the time he finished.

 

From: Ronan

To: Adam

  it’s ronan, that checklist was a fucking trip

From Adam:

  Hey :) And yeah it can take some getting used to. Have you not done formal negotiation before?

From Ronan:

  not my style.

From Adam:

  Well then, I appreciate you being willing to step outside your comfort zone.

From Ronan:

  yeah, whatever, text me the address of the place and i’ll be there tomorrow.

 

It was almost getting dark by then, which wasn’t saying much about the lateness of the day since winter time was thoroughly entrenched by now and Ronan could count the number of true hours of daylight on his fingers.

Ronan walked most of the way home, only ducking into the subway and riding a few stops when it started to snow. Somehow when he got home he was still buzzing. With anticipation and ideas for scenes. With anxiety and what Calla wouldn’t hesitate to call paranoia.

It was also still snowing lightly when he made it to The Brownstone. He paused on the steps. This place had been home for as long as he could remember. It had always meant safety, meant family and history and a moment of quiet in a loud city. It still meant all those things. But it also meant: snake in the grass, a thousand cockroaches in the attic that you can’t see until they’re all around you, jaws closing around his neck and little poisoned pills on his tongue. It meant: you didn’t try hard enough. It meant: you were trapped and in the end you couldn’t save yourself. That last one stung more some days than others. Today he couldn’t muster the energy to hate himself for needing help.

So Ronan called the knight in shining armor himself and he answered on the first ring while Ronan spoke over his greeting.

“Dick, you should come over and let me beat you at Mario Kart until it feels like our fingers will fall off and our eyes will be dry forever.”

Gansey sighed but Ronan knew he was smiling.

“You know there are actually videogames that I’m good at.”

“Yeah?” Ronan said skeptically, taking a seat on the lowest step even though it meant his ass was soaked instantly.

“Well, at least videogames I enjoy. Noah has this excellent game called Peggle. And you know there’s a console version of Angry Birds now?”

“Fuck, Gansey both of those games came out literal _years_ ago. I know you enjoy the whole boring grandpa aesthetic but you don’t have to be this dedicated to being out of touch with people your own fucking age.”

Gansey sniffed.  “The youths,” he said with a passable imitation of his father’s disparaging haughtiness and Ronan had to laugh.

Through the phone he heard the tell-tale sound of Gansey’s front door shutting behind him and the clang of the freight elevator.

“One day that fucking death trap is gonna break with you on it. And I for one am not going to attend your boring ass rich white boy funeral,” Ronan said. Gansey would know he was talking about the elevator, or maybe about the whole building, a historic (if nearly condemned) apartment building in Bushwick that Gansey had bought as soon as his first book had hit the New York Times Bestseller List. He now rented out the apartments for criminally cheap while slowly fixing up the inside of the place. It was a weird little hobby but Gansey was a weird little guy so Ronan supposed he should take it in stride by now.

“I have it in my will that Helen has to bury my bones underneath The Brownstone’s floorboards so I can haunt you properly.”

“You’ll have to share the space with Noah, they’ve also threatened to haunt me.”

“When was this?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

“It was during a tickle fight wasn’t it?”

“Possibly.” And then, over the sound of Gansey’s tinny laugh, “But I won, obviously. Hence the haunting.”

“Of course. You never start a fight you can’t finish.”

For half a second he couldn’t breathe. Then he pushed on.

“Who said I started it?”

“I believe I just did.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ronan said, because there was no good way to argue with the truth.

“Language! Children are present.”

“You’re hanging out with toddlers now?”

“I meant you actually.”

“Fuck off.” Ronan said and hung up before he started to laugh. Talking with Gansey had made him feel better. It always did. But when he looked over his shoulder at The Brownstone, the lightness faded and the antsy, itchy certainty returned, that he was a fuck-up, that if Gansey hadn’t come back from Wales when he did Ronan would still be stuck in that goddamn house.

He didn't go in. Instead he sat on the front step and slowly let the snow soak through his jacket as he waited for Gansey to arrive.

He knew it was stupid, knew it was self-destructive and unhealthy. He was self-aware enough to realize it was more than just fear of the memories The Brownstone held. It was a way to punish himself for all his past mistakes, for being weak, for needing someone, for everything.

Eventually the snow stopped but Ronan was shivering. With numb fingers he texted Noah.

 

From Ronan:

  where do you go when there's nowhere safe left?

From Noah:

  Where are u?

From Ronan:

  its a metaphor man.

From Noah:

  Yea I kno, but you don't get this maudlin out of nowhere. So where r u?

From Ronan:

  home.

From Noah:

  Ahh. Short answer: I don't kno :/ u kinda just gotta wait it out. Long answer: u make new safe places or new memories in old places. U build it back into ur head that something can be safe, if not forever, then at least for now. U build a web of safe people and safe places and say “I'm the fucking spider now. U can't fucking touch me”

From Ronan:

  and you believe it?

From Noah:

  If u say it enough times, u start 2

From Ronan:

  thanks man

From Noah:

  Np

 

Maybe that could work. He had Gansey; he had Noah; he had Calla. He wouldn’t be seeing Matthew over winter break because he was going to Costa Rica with some friends, but Ronan was sure he’d get an influx of faux-artsy Instagram photos and drunken declarations that he was the best brother ever. And he had Gansey’s deathtrap of an apartment building, and Noah’s family home on Long Island, and sometimes he had The Brownstone. Those people, those places were safe now, from everything but his own memories.

So he whispered it to himself under his breath:

“I’m the fucking spider.” It felt good. He kept going. “I’m the wolf. I’m the motherfucking cockroach because I can survive _anything_.”

He gathered himself and was thinking about making the trek inside to dry off and maybe pop some popcorn for him and Gansey to fight over, when the man himself walked up.

“Jesus Christ, Ronan what the fuck are you doing?”

“Thinking.” Ronan said looking up. And there must have been something in his face because Gansey squatted down in front of him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, talked to Noah. I’m the fucking spider.” Gansey raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything to that. “I’m fucking cold though.”

Gansey smiled and rolled his eyes.

“You don’t say? Come on, let’s go inside. I was promised shitty videogames.”

Ronan snorted.

“Please, you don’t even know shitty videogames until I’ve made you play Call of Duty.”

Gansey shuddered in mock horror as Ronan stood up and made for the door.

Inside it was drafty but significantly warmer than outside.

“Hey, can you get a fire started while I have a quick shower, I’m fucking freezing.” Ronan said, toeing off his shoes and dropping his (thankfully waterproof) messenger bag by the door as Gansey came in.

“Sure. I don’t suppose you have any actual food in the house?”

“You could eat the chicken.” Ronan suggested.

Noah had gotten him a chick for Easter this year, one part coping tool to show that he could care for another living thing, and one part Friends joke. Ronan had threatened to eat her when she was full grown. Instead he’d named her Chainsaw and stopped eating any chicken at all because he couldn’t handle the guilt. He was still cursing Noah for that one.

“You know what? Go have a shower. I’ll figure something out.” Gansey said, long-suffering. Ronan shot him a shit-eating grin and headed up the stairs to his bedroom.

Dinner, as it turned out, was delivery pizza. And dessert was microwave popcorn with chocolate and caramel sauce on top because Gansey knew exactly how to cater to Ronan’s wicked sweet tooth.

By the end of the evening every single controller had chocolate sauce somewhere on it and Ronan had actually managed to lose a single Mario Kart race because he was so busy smearing his sticky hands in Gansey’s hair.

Gansey took Declan’s old room and Ronan fell asleep around 3am to the clacking of fingers on a keyboard next door.

Gansey was gone by the time Ronan’s alarm went off at 10:00 the next morning. He ate leftovers and grudgingly cleaned the controllers and the coffee table which was also worse for wear. Then he headed over to the address Adam had texted him yesterday, a ‘Henry’s Coffee House’ which Ronan had never heard of before.

He got there early. Closer to 12:00 than 12:30. Before he could properly case the joint he was waylaid by a tiny human. She couldn’t have been more than five foot nothing and she was aggressively eclectic with a mixture of lace and frills and safety pins making up her clothes and her hair pulled back into a tiny ponytail with the help of a metric fuckton of hair clips. She had a mouth made for frowning which was exactly what she was doing right now.

 His eyes fell to her nametag.

“What kind of name is ‘Blue’?”

“You must be Ronan,” she said, though her tone held an almost accusatory edge. “Adam told me to look out for you.”

“How’d you know?” Ronan asked, smirking.

“He said to look out for a tall angry man with a buzzcut and expensively trashed clothes. He didn’t actually _say_ you were gonna be rude, but I read between the lines,” she said, gesturing for him to follow her towards the back of the café.

“Are all of Adam’s friends so charming?”

“No I’m the charming-est. It’s just your luck that Henry is on the till right now. He would have given you a proper rich dude welcome.”

There were only three booths in the very back of the coffee shop and the one by itself on the far wall was (strategically, Ronan guessed) piled with dirty dishes. Ronan sat at the conveniently empty table and looked at Blue.

“Are you going to clear these up?” he asked after a second, indicating the dirty plates and mugs.

Blue glowered.

“You know, I was going to. I was also going to ask if you wanted anything. But I’m reconsidering both.”

“I’ll have a Frappuccino.” Ronan said, just to see what she’d do.

“Do we look like a Starbucks to you?”

“Fine, a vanilla latte, extra whipped cream.”

She stared at him for a long moment and then turned and walked away, leaving the dishes. Ronan was not optimistic about getting that coffee anytime soon.

He pushed everything to the edge of the table and settled into the back of the booth, pulling out his computer. He’d actually gone so far as to print out the filled in checklist even though it made him feel like he was back in that first semester of college before he’d dropped the fuck out. But like hell was he going to get it out and stare at all his answers as he waited. Instead he pulled up his blog and posted a stream of consciousness piece he had written late last night before he’d finally succumbed to sleep. He didn’t read it before he posted it, just tagged it:

#late night #if there are typos don’t tell me bc you know what I fucking mean #unless it’s legitimately unintelligible in which case idgaf #poetry

It had gotten 14 likes and 5 comments by the time Adam walked in.

Adam went up to the counter and exchanged money and a fistbump with the smiling, well-groomed man at the register in return for two full mugs. Then, at a gesture from the cashier Adam looked back at the booth where Ronan sat. Ronan felt the distinctly foreign urge to wave encouragingly. He thoroughly suppressed the thought and settled for a subdued nod. Adam smiled and headed over.

When he got to the table he handed over the mugs and gave the dirty dishes an unimpressed look before gathering them up and walking back towards the counter. Blue met him halfway, took the handful and whispered furiously in his ear for a second. As he turned back Ronan pretended to take an intense interest in his latte (noticeably milkier than Adam’s… what was that _drip coffee_?).

“It was supposed to have extra whipped cream,” Ronan remarked when Adam sat down.

“Judging by Blue’s mood, it probably has _something_ extra in it,” Adam said.

“Gross. You have gross friends.”

“Spit’s never done anyone any serious harm. And Blue wanted to make a statement on behalf of service workers everywhere.”

“What? ‘Don’t tip’?”

Adam gave Ronan such a stern, disapproving look that Ronan tensed.

“Kidding. Ha, ha,” he clarified, deadpan, ignoring the tingle down his spine. He couldn’t quite tell if it was a good feeling or not.

“Did you fill out that checklist I sent you?”

“Yeah.” He pulled it out of his bag and handed it over just as Adam got something out of his briefcase and passed it across the table.

“What’s this?” Ronan asked.

“My checklist?” Adam sounded confused.

“Oh. You filled it out too? That’s… cool.” Ronan said. What the fuck was he meant to do with this?

“You’ve really never done any type of negotiation before have you?” Adam said, bemused.

“Oh and you have?” Ronan’s voice was too defensive but he didn’t give a shit.

“Um, yeah?” But he didn’t sound sure so Ronan felt it was a small victory. “Anyway, look it over, so you know what stuff we have in common and what’s on the table going forward. And ask me if you have any questions.”

Ronan got as far as “Barebacking: yes” with the note “if we’ve both been tested” before he gave up. He couldn’t focus on this right now. He put the papers down. Adam looked up at the movement.

“I’ve got something to tell you.” Ronan forced himself to say. He hadn’t had this conversation in a long time.

“Okay.” Adam said, then when there was nothing forthcoming, “Is it about the list?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Another silence. This time Adam let it lie.

“I’m a trans guy.” Ronan said finally.

“Oh- ‘kay.” A brief falter but Adam’s face barely registered surprised before it was back to blandly calm.

“And you’re fine with that?” Ronan asked, belligerent.

“Yup.”

“You’re not gonna ask what kind of junk I’ve got?” Ronan said, still tense.

“Well no,” Adam said, after barely half a second of thought, “I’m bisexual so I don’t really have a preference. And I figure if we continue this and you want me to know the question will kind of answer itself.”

This was going too well. Ronan had been braced for the worst, tentatively hoping for only a microaggression or two. Adam sounded effortlessly chill about the whole thing.

“I’m not ashamed of it. If you think that’s why I didn’t tell you right away.” Ronan explained, trying but not succeeding in weeding out the defensive tone from his voice.

“No, I figure it was for the same reason you didn’t want to do too much negotiation before our first scene, you weren’t sure if I was worth your time yet.”

“Right. Yeah.” He pushed himself back in the booth, hands on the table and sighed, letting out the adrenaline. He really had been ready to come out of this conversation swinging. You never know about cis guys. Assuming Adam was cis…

“Are you trans?” he asked, because that would make this a lot more understandable.

“No, well, eh. No. I’ve got a long-term ‘Q’ for ‘Questioning’ next to my gender but I’m fine with ‘he’ pronouns and don’t really have dysphoria so I don’t worry about it too much. Do you?”

“Worry about your gender?”

Adam laughed a little, it was a nice sound.

“Have dysphoria? I know you had the keep pants on rule for our first scene, I was just wondering in that was standard for you.”

“Oh. No. Dysphoria hasn’t been a big problem since I got top surgery and started passing pretty much across the board, so not for a while now.”

“Gotcha.” Adam said, looking so blandly encouraging that it was kind of freaking Ronan out.

* * *

 

“Gotcha.” Adam said, trying to be the right shade of encouraging. And then, because Ronan still looked on edge, he said: “You know I’m not some secret transphobe. It really doesn’t bother me.”

“Yeah,” Ronan said, finally blinking and slouching against the table again, “I’m getting that.”

They both sipped at their coffee, letting the last of the tension dissipate (Ronan seemed to have forgotten that his drink may or may not have included Blue’s spit). Adam couldn’t keep his gaze from wandering back to the checklist. He really wanted to see what Ronan liked, start planning the next scene.

But Ronan was determinedly drinking his latte and ignoring Adam’s checklist in front of him. Adam could see where this was going.

“You really don’t want to talk about this in person, do you?” Adam asked. “The kink stuff?” he clarified.

“Yeah,” Ronan drew out the word, “I don’t really want to talk about it at all honestly. Like sure, ask me questions but like I’m not gonna give you a reason for everything on that list.”

“No, no of course not. I don’t mean that kind of discussion. Just clarifying questions, planning out our next scene.”

Ronan looked deeply, deeply unimpressed with this idea. Adam sighed.

“Right,” Adam said, “I forgot. It’s all about the surprise with you.”

“Well, _yeah_.” Ronan said, “I mean now you’ve got the lowdown on me, you basically hold all the cards.” Ronan seemed discomfited by this but before Adam could ask him to explain what he meant, he was moving on. “You can plan all you want with that list and still be pretty sure I’ll like it. Meanwhile if I feel like getting a sneak peek at what you might choose to do, I can always look at your list. It doesn’t have to be a whole back and forth.”

Adam supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. He’d had experience with other subs who weren’t big on structured negotiation. But usually at play parties there was at least a brief ‘I’m going to do this, is that okay?’ followed by a ‘yeah’ or a ‘no, do this instead’. He guessed going without that could be fun for a sub, but for Adam it was anathema; he wanted to be in control of everything, have everything planned and laid out. He supposed that was why he’d never been interested in subbing.

“Okay, that’s fine. Some of these categories can be pretty broad so I reserve the right to text you, but I can try to keep it vague.”

“Cool. You said you were busy later in the week, what’s your weekend like?”

“I usually work from home on Sundays, but I could do Saturday again.”

“Sure, that should work. I’ll text you what time I’m free.”

“Great,” Adam said.

And with that Ronan got up, grabbed his stuff and left without another word. He didn’t seem to be very good at ending conversations. Adam couldn’t decide if that was annoying or strangely endearing. Before Ronan had even fully left the shop Blue was sitting down in his spot and Adam knew she would have an opinion on the endearing vs. annoying question if anyone did.

“The asshole has left the building,” she said, rather louder than she should. But then her voice lowered. “That looked awkward.”

“Oh my god, you were watching over my shoulder the whole time weren’t you?”

“Well, _yeah_. Don’t worry my lurking didn’t bother the douche-canoe, he never looked away from you.” Adam rolled his eyes just so he didn’t smile stupidly. But then she continued, “He told you he was bi, didn’t he? Not knowing you are too.”

“No,” Adam said slowly. He also gave her an ‘ew, that’s gross’ look when she drank some of the latte that Ronan had left behind.

“It’s not gross, it’s my spit,” she said defensively, but then, because she refused to be deterred, “But he confessed something didn’t he? Oh I know, he’s trans, right?”

Adam shook his head in disbelief. Blue clearly recognized that it wasn’t a denial because she crowed in victory.

“How could you possibly know that?” Adam asked, “And don’t say ‘trans-dar’ because that’s not a thing.”

“Like recognizes like Adam, your ‘vaguely questioning’ ass wouldn’t understand,” at Adam’s halfhearted glare she went on, “Honestly, that kind of aggressive masculinity is usually reserved for homophobes and trans guys who are obsessed with passing. And since he was eye-fucking you the whole time I figured he wasn’t the former.”

“Jesus, I’m not going to tell him that.”

“What part?”

Adam thought for a second.

“Not any of it actually.”

Blue laughed and downed the rest of the latte.

“Your lunch is almost over. Better get back to the grindstone, oh lawyerly one.”

“Shit.”

Adam had already shuffled around some meetings in order to make this lunch. And now he was going to be late. One day didn’t undermine every single late night and early morning and hard-won case but Adam didn’t like to set the precedent. Especially not for something as irresponsible as meeting a hookup for lunch. It didn’t matter that he was more excited about looking at that checklist than he had been about a case in a long time. It was still a silly indulgence to meet Ronan like this in the middle of the day.

“Thanks, Blue,” he said, packing up his things and downing the last inch of his now-lukewarm coffee.

“No problem babe,” she said, sticking her head out at an angle, demanding a kiss on the cheek which Adam gave without thought.

“See you tonight,” she said, then added, “Keep me updated on the asshole!” That last part was very nearly shouted at his disappearing back. Adam couldn’t quite manage a laugh. He was already thinking about work, about case files on his desk, about a court session later in the week. He had a million things to do between now and when he saw Ronan next. Still, as he exited the shop he spared a smile. Saturday was going to be a good day.


	3. the clouds came down like pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are mentions of disordered eating just in the first few paragraphs of this chapter. Also, this (http://www.theduchy.com) site was used as reference for all the ties used throughout this fic.  
> Take that ‘religious themes’ tag seriously, it’s more like religious fetishism so if you’ve got concerns about that please message me.

Adam kept a very strict schedule for himself. He woke up at 5am, got coffee from Henry’s on the way to work around 7am, tried to schedule lunch meetings because otherwise he would forget to eat, left the office around 7:30pm on Mondays and Wednesdays, ate takeout, frozen microwave dinners, or occasionally one of the week’s worth of meals he’d managed to prepare on Sunday, then prepped for the following day's work before collapsing into bed around midnight. On Tuesdays he left work early (or perhaps “early” since 6:00 didn't technically qualify as early to most people) and had dinner with Blue, or Blue and Henry. Those nights were relaxing; taking off the suit, cooking together and letting a little bit of himself filter through the daily facade. Thursdays were the opposite, what he thought of as Schmoozing Days, when he went out to dinner or drinks with his fellow associates or occasionally the partners. Thursdays were exhausting exercises in backstabbing and brown nosing by turns and always left him stupidly grateful that the week was almost over. Fridays he stayed late because you didn’t get promoted by having fun.

Saturdays were his rest day. His one day a week when he wouldn't look at work. If Blue wasn't working they would have dinner with her family at their home in Harlem (a tradition that started when they were dating and then continued after the breakup mostly because Adam had been more or less adopted by then). If she was working he'd laze around the house all day reading and watching SVU marathons. The thing was, idleness didn’t really fit, after all this time working every waking moment. He felt lazy when he wasn't working a twelve to fourteen hour day. When he'd admitted this over dinner one Saturday Persephone had got her therapist face on (which was more or less like her psychic face, except with a more determined glint in her eye) and said sternly (for her) that this was _self-care_ and he was under no circumstances to give up his one day of rest in order to get more done, no matter how much the free time itched.

Sundays were the day of chores and errands and preparing for the coming week of work. He planned them carefully: dry cleaners, grocery shopping and laundry in the morning, while everyone else was sleeping in, then case work and trial prep in the afternoon through the evening with a short break to make some real food for once.

It was good. He was on top of it. He knew everything that needed to be done each day and he had it worked out so he could complete those tasks. He was on track for making partner before he was thirty-five and he had enough money to afford his apartment and his student loan payments. Everything was handled.

However, the drawback to this grueling schedule was that it didn't leave much time for little things like _conversations_. He’d already scrambled to meet Ronan for lunch and he didn’t get another chance to look at the list until about twelve hours later. Almost one in the morning, after Blue had left, Adam thought it was worth a shot to text Ronan.

From Adam:

            I realized we didn’t debrief about our last scene.

 

An immediate response.

 

From Ronan:

            nope

From Adam:

            I figured you’d probably prefer to do it this way anyway

From Ronan:

            yeah, i’m better over text

From Adam:

            Could have fooled me ;)

            So was there anything about our last scene that you particularly liked or disliked?

 

Then there was a long few minutes of typing. Then a rash of texts.

From Ronan:

the sensory deprivation was okay after a while, but I think i’d rather hear you than white noise.

            if you want me to shut the hell up you should probably get a gag because I’m a talker.

            the kneeling trick was cool and everything but i’m not gonna say no to some old fashioned flogging/caning/etc

            all the pain parts were good really, but more pain (or orders) upfront would be better

From Adam:

            Damn, you weren’t kidding. You are better at communicating over text. Good to know.

            Okay, all of that is noted. Anything else I should know?

From Ronan:

            don’t play mind games. if you’re gonna punish me do it right away, or tell me you’re going to wait.

 

Adam wondered a little what had prompted that. He hadn’t done anything of the sort during their first scene.

 

From Adam:

            Yeah sure, mind games aren’t really my thing.

From Ronan:

            cool

From Adam:

            And for what it’s worth, I’m not planning on gagging you anytime soon. I like that you’re kinda mouthy.

From Ronan:

            okay.. and yeah I guess I should ask you too, anything I did wrong or that I should do differently next time?

 

Adam thought for a second. Especially about the wording of Ronan’s question.

From Adam:

            Nothing ‘wrong’, no. If you could communicate more like this, that would be great, especially after. Like maybe text me updates and stuff? Otherwise you were great. I liked your initiative :)

From Ronan:

            my what?

From Adam:

            You know, I didn’t have to order you to do every single thing. That was great.

From Ronan:

            you're weird man but okay, i’ll keep taking ‘initiative’ as long as it won’t get me in deep shit

From Adam:

            Nope, no deep shit. No shit at all. Just do your thing and I’ll tell you if I want you to do something different.

 

And then he fell asleep so he figured that was the end of that conversation. He kept thinking about it though, about Ronan saying he’d like to hear Adam, that he wanted more pain or more orders. It got pushed aside for a new case on Wednesday but the case was pretty boring so Adam was soon back to thinking about it. He made small talk with only half his brain on Thursday, part of him caught up in thinking about Saturday.

Adam knew he could play it safe, just work off the ‘yes’s from Ronan’s list. Plan out a standard ‘pain or submission followed by sex’ scene. But he looked at all the ‘maybe’s on Ronan’s list and he saw possibilities. Possibilities to try something new, to really surprise Ronan, because not knowing what was coming seemed important to him.

Plus it would be nice to play to his own skills. When he got home he was usually exhausted but this time he stayed up and started making little pencil checkmarks next to a few things. He got to “role playing scenes: maybe” which was vague but good to know and it planted a little idea in his head. Next he pulled up some of his research. Maybe for someone else ‘research’ would be a euphemism for ‘porn stash’ but Adam took this shit very seriously. Every piece of equipment he had he’d tried on himself, everything he’d checked as a ‘yes’ or a ‘maybe’ on his checklist he’d looked up and read about.

He got to one picture, an example of a more complicated hand tie and suddenly he had a capital-I idea.

From Adam:

            Are you religious?

From Ronan:

            what the fuck does that have to do with anything? but yeah, catholic

From Adam:

            Cool. I was just thinking about some light role playing. You marked it as a maybe.

From Ronan:

            please don’t do the priest thing, it’s not hot, it’s just weird. Besides you’ve got the angel look going on more than the old priest.

 

Adam wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh at that.

 

From Adam:

            So I look like an angel??

From Ronan:

            you sure think a lot of yourself.

From Adam:

            You were the one who said it!

            And anyway, I wasn’t thinking I’d go in for the costumes and shit like that. Maybe less role playing and more… themed dirty talk.

From Ronan:

            see this is why I don’t want to know what you’re going to do. hearing part of a scene called ‘themed dirty talk’ pretty much guarantees I’m not gonna like it.

From Adam:

            Is that a challenge? ;)

From Ronan:

            what the fuck ever, just stop talking before you make it worse. i’ll see you on saturday at 9?

From Adam:

            PM?

From Ronan:

            am. what do you fucking think

From Adam:

            You’re kind of a dick, you know that right?

From Ronan:

            you sure catch on quick. i'm pretty sure your short friend could have told you that within five seconds of meeting me

From Adam:

            Haha. Asshole.

From Ronan:

            guilty as

 

That settled it then. He was confident enough in his ability to BS with the best of them that he didn’t feel the need to practice out loud, but he knew he would be running through scripts in his head until Ronan was standing in front of him on Saturday night.

That was enough for tonight. He fell asleep with his computer still open in his lap.

Friday passed quickly but Saturday morning crawled by, sky grey as rain or wet snow alternated their patter against his windows. He texted Ronan to find out if they were meeting at his apartment or Adam’s. Ronan wanted to do it at Adam’s place which suited him just fine, it meant not hauling a messenger bag full of suspicious materials across the city.

Afternoon was spent cleaning the apartment. Not because it was particularly dirty (Adam was of the ‘clean as you go’ mentality to housekeeping) but because it gave him something to do. He finished around 7:45 and still had an hour to kill sitting on his hands and frantically running through all the ways this could go very wrong.

He could mess up the scene; he could be presumptuous in running with some of the comments Ronan made; he could forget what he was going to say, or say the wrong thing; he could accidentally upset Ronan. And that last one was the worst thought because for these few hours Ronan was his responsibility and he cared far more about properly shouldering that weight than any temporary embarrassment he might feel.

By 8:45 he was pacing despite himself. It was the buildup that was the worst. Last time they'd just jumped right into it and Adam had had to think on his feet. But now that he'd had days to prepare and think about it he'd built up the scenario in his head and worried that the real thing would be a mess in comparison.

God he was sweating, this was ridiculous. And his hair was probably a mess from running his hands through it. He wasn't sure what Ronan would say if Adam was visibly nervous by the time he got here. Mock him perhaps? Or maybe Ronan would be like a high strung dog who only got more anxious when it sensed its owner’s unease? Either way Adam didn't want to deal with it. So with 12 minutes to spare before Ronan was meant to show up, Adam jumped in the shower.

He was hard the whole time but didn't touch himself any more than necessary. He wasn't a teenager anymore; he could manage to wait until Ronan was there.

He showered quickly but still got out about 3 minutes past 9:00. He had just pulled on underwear when he heard a knock at the door to the apartment. Shit.

“Be right there!” he yelled, walking into the main room.

* * *

 

“-ight there!” came Adam’s voice through the door, louder and more intelligible as he got closer.

A second later the door swung open.

And there was Adam.

He was wearing boxer briefs and nothing else, except a towel draped over his damp head. He wasn't ripped, but he was slim and the underwear left little to the imagination. He looked wholesome and clean and Ronan stepped closer without conscious thought, just needing to be a little nearer. But he didn't reach out to touch a dusky tan nipple like he wanted too. He was too worried his touch would stain the perfect picture Adam made.

Adam didn't seem perturbed. There might have been a slight flush beneath his freckles but it could just as easily been the heat of his recent shower.

“I'm late.” Ronan said rather dumbly as Adam closed the door.

“Not late enough as you can see, give me a minute.”

Then he disappeared down the hallway. Ronan followed a few steps unconsciously, like a piece of debris caught in a riptide, until he stood in the mouth of the hall, shadow stretching to meet Adam’s retreating bare feet.

It must have caught Adam's eye because he stopped at the last doorway, before going in. He looked back at Ronan.

“You can come in if you'd like? I'll only be a minute but…” He shrugged, leaving the choice up to Ronan.

And if the choice was to occupy himself as Adam packed away all that bare skin behind a closed door, or to witness the act, well that was no choice at all.

Ronan walked down the hall and pushed open the nearly shut door to what must be Adam's bedroom. Stepping inside, Adam's body suddenly became dwarfed in his mind, pushed aside by many other thoughts.

What the fuck.

The bedroom, by the look of it, was as large as the living and dining rooms combined. But it gave the impression of being smaller. Probably because it was filled with _things_.

Along the huge windows on the far wall were layers and layers of potted plants and heat lamps and hanging baskets. Their leafy contents spilled out in a cascade of warm greens and variegated whites and purples. All the other walls were covered by shelves filled with a rich collection of worn paperbacks. In front and on top of the books were an array of curious knickknacks and small succulents. The large bed sitting in the center of the room was covered in an intricately pattered blue and green quilt and the desk at its foot held more stacks of paper and empty mugs than frankly seemed possible.

If the rest of Adam’s apartment was soulless then this room had a soul all of its own, or more likely, it was the personification of Adam’s. It seemed alive and breathing, smelling of wet earth and second-hand books.

Adam had gotten dressed as Ronan had taken in the room and was now watching him.

“Not what you expected?” he asked and Ronan couldn’t quite understand the emotion in his voice.

Ronan just shook his head, still a little in awe. This room looked on the inside the way Adam looked on the outside: beautiful and strange, remarkably real and (Ronan suspected) resistant to change, but also not really in need of any improvements.

Adam shrugged.

“The front rooms are for company, dinner parties with people from work, shit like that. This room is _mine_.”

“It’s… good.” Ronan said, thinking about The Brownstone, about how maybe Adam would understand after all, about homes and safe places.

Adam raised an eyebrow in what Ronan suspected was a sardonic expression.

“Thanks, I’m _so_ glad it has your approval.”

“You should be,” he said, flippant because he felt wrong-footed and wanted this conversation to be over.

Adam gave him an unimpressed look. Then closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a moment. When he opened his eyes Ronan met them immediately.

“Let’s try this again?” Ronan suggested, remembering their first meeting. He didn’t know if Adam remembered or not, but he smiled.

“Yeah.” And then, “You ready to start? Or do you want a beer or something before we get into it?”

“No, I’m good.” He really wanted a beer. He made himself say it: “I don’t drink.” The ‘anymore’ was silent.

“Okay.” Adam said, accepting it easily. “What’s your safeword?”

“Glendower.”

“Take off your jacket.”

Just like last time, an air of authority to his posture suddenly but no obvious command in his voice.

Still, Ronan did as he was told, because against all odds there was a part of himself that wanted to, even now: wanted to listen and be instructed, wanted to follow suggestions and obey orders.

He moved to drop the jacket on the floor but paused at a cluck of Adam’s tongue.

“Fold it and put it on the desk chair,” he said, then, “I’ve been cleaning all day.” That last admission was accompanied by a sheepish smile. As Ronan moved to obey, Adam continued, “And then the rest of your clothes.”

Ronan took off his shoes and socks and placed them neatly next to the desk. Then he took off his shirt and pants. He paused for a second with his hands at his waistband. Before he could start to pull them down, Adam stepped close, clothed chest brushing Ronan’s bare one.

“Wait. Keep them on.”

“Changing your mind already?” Ronan challenged, because he didn’t want Adam to comment on the awkward pause or the anxious twist in his gut that went with it.

“I want you to be comfortable for now. So I’m going to leave it up to you. Underwear on or off?”

“If I wanted to make decisions I’d go grocery shopping.” Ronan said bitterly.

Adam’s face quirked into a smile.

“Sorry man, this is all you. Do you want your lettuce wearing underwear or not?”

Ronan wasn’t sure if it was the casual gender affirmation or the pure absurdity of the statement but his shoulders relaxed and he spoke without thinking.

“On.”

“Okay,” Adam said, “Thank you.” Ronan wasn’t sure Adam was supposed to thank him for having an opinion but what could you do. “On the bed, on your back.”

Ronan thought of a second, about their texts, about their last scene. Feeling stupid and brave and stupider still for feeling brave, he pulled back the quilt and the top sheet and then settled on the turned down bed. When he was lying in the center of the mattress he glanced over at Adam.

He was smiling.

Ronan bit back his own expression.

“Good. Now I want you to close your eyes. I can blindfold you if you need me to, but I’d like you to just keep them closed for me. Can you do that?”

“I don’t know. Sounds pretty strenuous, but I think I can handle it.” Ronan smirked, sneaking a last look at Adam before closing his eyes.

There was something comforting and freeing in being blindfolded, just as there was in being bound; he could let go and relax because his only job was to exist and feel what was happening to him. But there was also something about following orders, especially ones said so docilely, that comforted him. He was trustworthy. He could be relied upon. It was stupid but it was how Ronan’s brain worked and he didn’t feel guilty about it (not in this moment at least).

He heard Adam walk from the side of the bed to the head, followed by the creak of a trunk opening. There was a gentle clacking of plastic against plastic, the sound of Adam walking back, and a rustle of fabric by Ronan’s side. Then the mattress shifted beside him and that was the only warning he got before Adam was sitting on top of him.

“Fuck.” Ronan said. It was a little breathier than he’d like. The air had been forced out of his chest. But he hadn’t opened his eyes.

Adam wasn’t perched politely above Ronan. He was putting his whole weight on his ass and his hands where they pressed down on Ronan’s chest.

“Can you breathe?” Adam asked, not pulling back.

“Barely. But… it’s good.” The pressure felt solid and grounding, steadying.

Still, after a second, Adam moved back and put all his weight on Ronan’s hips.

“Put your hands over your head.” Naturally Ronan crossed his wrists, ready for them to be bound if need be, but Adam made no move to do so. “Good. Keep them there.”

There was nothing for a second, except Adam’s breaths. Then a sharp pinch. The pain was too sharp and steady to be from fingers. It didn’t waver, just settled into a bright hot starburst shooting up his chest.

“You fucker. Are those clothespins?” Ronan asked.

“Got it in one. I’m impressed.” There was a _clack_ and a bloom of pain, Ronan guessed from Adam flicking the clothespin. Ronan grunted. “I knew you didn’t have much to spare on your chest. So I’m using some smaller plastic ones. What do you think?”

Adam’s voice was light and casual but at the last sentence he twisted the clothespin and Ronan made a little pained sound.

“I think it fucking hurts.”

“Good hurt or bad hurt?”

Ronan shook his head from side to side on the bed.

“No, doesn’t work like that.”

“What do you mean?” Adam asked, curiosity plain in his voice.

“If I asked you to stop, would you?”

“Of course.” No hesitation, no smirk in his voice.

“Then it’s good pain. But it that doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking hurt.”

“Hmm.” Adam hummed thoughtfully before pulling off the clothespin. The rush of pleasure-pain as blood rushed back into the skin was heady. “And that? Is that good?” He rubbed a thumb over the stinging spot.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s good.” Because it was. With the cessation of pain came a rush of endorphins and the feeling like he could breathe again. “But not enough.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” He snapped the clothespin back into place maybe half an inch to the left of where it was before. This time he didn’t touch it or take it off, just let the pain radiate outward in a kind of constant warmth like one of those heat lamps under Ronan’s skin. There was just the pain then, but as it continued uninterrupted it became subtly duller, as though the nerve endings grew tired of screaming their displeasure or perhaps their voices grew hoarse. It didn’t hurt less, but it took up less space in his mind, it could be thought past, over, through.

And then the next clothespin dug in on the opposite side of his chest and Ronan whined, scrunching his eyes closed tightly. It was an odd spot, just above the meat of his pecs, close enough to his armpit to be soft and fleshy and _especially_ painful.

“Fuck off.” Ronan said, drawing out the last word.

And then Adam’s weight shifted and for a second Ronan had a sharp fear, like the first scene, that he’d pushed too far, that talking would make it worse, that it was all his fault what happened next. But nothing bad happened. There was no punishment. Adam had said he _liked_ that Ronan was mouthy, he reminded himself. Instead there was a gentle wet warmth on his left nipple.

Adam’s tongue flicked against the bud as he sucked on the skin around for a brief moment. Then there was a wet _pop_ as he pulled back.

“How much sensation do you have in your nipples?” Adam asked, before setting his mouth to the right nipple.

“Enough.” Ronan said, gruffness undermined by the way he panted slightly as Adam hummed approvingly against his now-pert nipple.

“Good.” Adam said, with one last lap at the sensitive skin. “Because you said nipple play was a maybe, so I thought we’d try it.”

Shit.

“Okay.” Ronan said, knowing full well it wasn’t up to him.

But before Adam closed the hard plastic around his nipple he paused.

“Do you want to use your safeword?”

“Fuck you.”

“Okay.” And then shooting pain in one nipple followed seconds later by a matching hurt from the other.

Ronan groaned and arched his back; trying to get away or closer, he wasn’t sure.

“You motherfucker!” Ronan said, louder than he meant to.

“I can take them off?” Adam said, tugging lightly on the clothespins.

“Don’t fucking touch them you bastard.” Ronan hissed and Adam huffed a laugh. At least Ronan thought it was a laugh. He honestly wasn’t paying very close attention at the moment.

He pressed his wrists into the bed and then shifted his chest from side to side, not enough to dislodge Adam, but enough to feel the four clothespins shift as his skin pulled and his body moved.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck you, you piece of shit. I fucking hate you.” Ronan gritted out. It wasn’t as eloquent as his swearing usually was but he couldn’t _think_.

Before he had time to get used to the sensation there was more of the same as another clothespin closed on the skin over his first rib. Then the accompanying one on his right side.

“I can’t. Fuck, god, I can’t.” His voice was brittle and his chest heaved.

“Do you want to stop?” Adam asked, voice light and non-committal.

“Fuck off,” he breathed on an exhale.

There was a pause that seemed very long to Ronan. Then Adam shifted his weight and the bed dipped on either side of Ronan’s head as Adam (he guessed) leaned over him.

Ronan almost opened his eyes on instinct, feeling Adam looming over him, but was stopped by the barest press of lips, incredibly gentle, to his right eyelid, then his left.

Then Adam was speaking, breath ghosting over Ronan’s mouth, so close he could feel the heat.

“You’re doing so well. Only two more. Can you do two more for me?”

Ronan didn’t speak, only nodded his head against the bed so his mouth lifted a bare inch to brush against Adam’s.

“That’s good. And you can always use your safeword if you want to, no questions asked.”

“I know that,” Ronan said, voice far too soft, and then, to counterbalance it, “motherfucker.”

He _felt_ Adam’s laugh against his face, but somehow, impossibly, it didn’t feel at all like being laughed at.

The bed shifted again as Adam withdrew, settling his weight back in Ronan’s lap. Then, in quick succession two more clips bit down on Ronan’s skin, these two much lower, just above the waistband of his boxers where the skin was soft and sensitive.

Ronan let out a sound that someone uncharitable might call a whimper.

“Shhh, all done. All done.” Adam said, voice careful and Ronan could barely hear it over the rush of blood in his ears. Everything was starting to feel very far away, as though Ronan was at the bottom of an elevator shaft and people were talking many floors above his head.

Gently, slowly, Adam touched just below one of his nipples. Ronan didn’t react besides a vague shudder so Adam kept going, tracing patterns on Ronan’s skin. It took a long time but eventually Ronan realized, as his breathing evened out and the pain too began to feel far away, Adam was following the path of Ronan’s various scars. There was a slight frisson of unease and he almost blinked open to check if he was right.

But he didn't. Instead from the basement floor in his own mind he gathered himself and in his most smug voice said:

“Like what you see?”

“Yes.” Adam said plainly but Ronan wanted to believe it was said with a smile.

“That's what I thought.” Ronan murmured, letting his shoulders relax again.

“I'm going to take them off now.” Adam said after a while, and Ronan made a small argumentative noise because things were _good_ right now, why did they have to change? Things were always changing. Ronan didn't like it.

But before he could complain more thoroughly the first clothespin came off and there was a rushing in his head as the pain dipped and spun into a different feeling, a strange, amazing feeling.

He barely even noticed the bed shifting as Adam put weight down on either side of Ronan’s shoulders. Then Adam's mouth was on the spot so recently taken up by the clip, sucking a bruise there. And it hurt, but more than that it felt revelatory, like there was nothing so right as the pain and the warm feeling of Adam's lips and tongue.

Ronan thought perhaps he was saying “Please, please, please,” over and over, but he might just have been thinking it.

Time moved quickly after that, as the other seven clothespins came off and each spot was treated to the ecstatic ache of Adam's teeth. Finally, too quickly, the last spot was marked and Ronan was left untethered in the dark space behind his eyelids.

“I'm going to do something now, alright?” Adam asked.

“A-okay.” Ronan wasn’t sure if he was answering the question Adam asked, or the one he hadn’t voiced.

“I'm going to get up and get some rope. Then I'm going to tie you up, okay?”

“Whatever, man. Do your thing.”

Ronan definitely thought he heard a laugh but it was quickly drowned out by the noise of Adam getting up. The bedsprings were loud in his ears and Ronan clenched his eyes more tightly shut as though that would help make things quieter.

Adam moved around but Ronan couldn't be bothered to track him.

Then Adam’s voice came from the side of the bed.

“Can you kneel up for me?”

Ronan thought about it for a moment. Moving right now was not high on his list of priorities but Adam was asking him so… he sighed deeply.

“I suppose,” he said, long-suffering tone only slightly exaggerated.

“Thank you.” Sincere. How novel.

“I haven’t done it yet,” Ronan pointed out.

He kept his eyes closed because it was peaceful in the dark but he moved his arms from above him and, with only a slight tremble, sat up and kneeled.

“Good boy.”

There was a glow of pride, then the implications filtered down.

“I’m not going to call you ‘daddy’.” Ronan said sternly. Or what passed for sternly when his head was still swimming pleasantly.

“I didn’t ask you to. But good to know.”

A cool weight went over his head. Rope. In a loose loop around his neck.

Adam threaded the rope between Ronan’s knees and brought it up to meet the loop at the back of his neck. Pulled it tight. Enough to feel but not enough to hurt.

It was all quick. Ronan was still thinking about Adam’s ‘good boy’ when Adam spoke again.

“Arms up please.”

Ronan grabbed his own elbows and rested his forearms on top of his head. The rope tickled his armpits as it came around to the front. Hands on him, Adam’s hands. They were warm where they guided the cool rope across Ronan’s skin. He swayed a little on his knees as Adam’s arms came around him. And then the rope was tight. Adam was close, so close, dropping a kiss on Ronan’s bare shoulder that made him feel dizzy.

It went on for a while. Stiff knots and gentle fingertips. Until Adam pulled away. Was he admiring his work? Ronan could feel the crosshatching pattern of the rope tight across his chest and stomach, carefully avoiding the dull aches of the marked spots. It felt good, to be contained, to know where his edges were and to have the rope keeping him grounded.

“Almost done. Hands in front of you now.”

Ronan let his arms fall so they rested on his thighs.

“No,” Adam said, hands on Ronan’s, “like this.”

He guided Ronan’s hands palm to palm in front of his face. Then more rope, this time around his wrists but not pulled tight. Not yet anyway.

“Now, can you pray for me Ronan?”

“What?” That didn’t make sense.

Adam clasped his own hands over top of Ronan’s and yes, it did feel like praying when Ronan’s thumbs brushed his nose.

“Just do what you’d do at church. Pray.”

“Out loud?” Ronan asked, because you didn’t pray out loud except inside a church.

“If you’d like. But you don’t have to.”

So he silently ran through Our Father and Hail Mary and as he prayed, Adam continued working on his hands, quickly looping the ropes around his clasped palms, between his fingers.

Something seemed odd about Adam’s practiced movements but Ronan couldn’t think of what exactly.

“Where’d you learn this?” he asked, because some part of him was saying that was a pertinent question.

“I taught myself.” And yes, that was acceptable. Adam struck him as somewhat of a self-taught, self-made man although he couldn’t say just then what made him think that. It was something about this room, about the clean yet cluttered shelves and the look on Adam’s face when he saw Ronan looking.

Didn’t matter.

What mattered was the rope, tight across his front, reaching around him, holding him close and now more around his hands, keeping his palms pressed together as if in prayer.

And oh, yeah, he was meant to be praying.

But Adam was done with the rope so he put his hands on either side of Ronan’s face, cupping his jaw.

“Open your eyes.”

It was bright. Impossibly bright and Ronan couldn’t tell if there was more light than before, or if his eyes were just unaccustomed now. But out of the flood of sensation Adam solidified, face haloed by light and eyes kind, benevolent smile completing the vision.

“What-” Ronan was floating, body tingling, confusion clawing dully at the deep calm he felt. ‘What am I meant to do?’ he tried to ask, but what came out was “What are you?”

As soon as the thought was out of his mouth he knew he’d done something wrong. But Adam just kept smiling.

“I’m a messenger of God.”

“An angel,” Ronan whispered. And he knew it was Adam, knew he was just a man, but somehow he also had no difficulty believing there was something divine about this wonderful, beautiful, shining beacon of a person.

“Got it in one again.” Adam said, and there was something ever so slightly off about his expression, as though he was nervous. But Ronan felt eminently sure that angels didn’t get nervous. “Now, do you know ‘Hail Holy Queen’?”

Ronan nodded.

“I’d love to hear you pray, Ronan,” and his voice was impossibly soft, gentle.

“Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of mercy,” Ronan said, as Adam kissed him on the brow. And he hadn’t been to church in weeks, but this felt holy. “Our life, our sweetness and our hope.”

Carefully Adam tipped Ronan forward until he fell onto his forearms, bound fingers brushing against the desk at the end of the bed.

“To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve,” Ronan said, and as Adam climbed onto the bed behind him Ronan became aware of Adam’s entire solid body as it pressed against his back. Ronan’s breaths sped up, but he kept talking.

“To thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tuh-,” Ronan faltered as Adam pressed his thigh between Ronan’s parted knees and pushed up, rubbing the rope between his legs against Ronan’s clit. “..tears.”

“Think you can get off like this?” Adam asked in his ear, voice low but still beautiful like a choir.

Ronan just breathed for a long time, thinking and feeling more than he could deal with. Finally, he shrugged and continued.

“Turn then, most gracious Advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us,” Ronan intoned, voice shaky as Adam worked his thigh against the already wet meeting of Ronan’s legs. “And after this our exile,” Ronan hadn’t even been aware of how close he’d been, but now that there was something to draw his mind inward he was shaking with desire, “show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

“O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary. Amen.” Ronan finished.

“Do you want to come?” Adam asked, barely above a whisper. Ronan nodded. “Then give me another ‘Hail Holy Queen’.”

So Ronan started again from the beginning, with breaths short and long pauses to moan, and by the time he was on the second to last line of the second prayer, he was coming.

“O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary. Amen.” Adam said, finishing the prayer for him as Ronan shook and shook.

“Holy shit.” Ronan finally said, after Adam had got up and was untying him.

“Well that was half the idea. You said no scat play so…”

“Oh shut the fuck up.” Ronan said, laughing as the rope fell away from his hands. As soon as his wrists were free he reached for Adam who swayed obligingly closer. But when Ronan went to put his hands over Adam’s dick he found it soft underneath his jeans.

“Oh. You got off already?” Ronan asked.

“Yeah, by the end of the first prayer. You didn’t notice?”

Ronan shook his head.

“You didn’t even take off your pants,” he said, rather nonsensically. It just seemed odd.

“I-uh,” Adam looked awkward now and was focusing very carefully on undoing the rope around Ronan’s chest. “No time seemed appropriate. I was focusing.” He shrugged, not meeting Ronan’s eyes. Ronan bit back a smile.

“Of course,” he said, as though that wasn’t the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

Adam rolled his eyes and pulled the rope over Ronan’s head before dropping it next to the bed.

“Can you stand?” he asked.

“You didn’t do anything to my legs.” Ronan pointed out, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up. He relished in that moment his father’s strong genes that gave Ronan an inch or two over Adam, just enough that when Ronan stepped into Adam’s space he had to look up through his lashes at him. “Thanks, champ.”

Adam’s eye flew wide.

“Are you leaving already?”

“The scene’s over isn’t it?” Ronan asked, suddenly confused.

“Yeah, but, aftercare’s a thing people do.” Adam said, half question, half accusation. And oh, _that_ was how it was going to be.

“What,” Ronan asked, derisive, “you want to bundle me up in a blanket and talk about our _feelings_?” Just because Adam had some idea in his head about what a scene was supposed to be like didn’t mean Ronan had to play into it. He wasn’t that guy and Adam couldn’t make him be.

Ronan started getting dressed again, too quickly, hands shaking a little.

“Jesus, maybe? Is there something wrong with that?”

“Nothing wrong. Just not my thing.” Pants on. “I come up from subspace pretty quick, but I really don’t need you harshing the last of my buzz. So I should get going.” Shirt on, shoes shoved onto his feet with the socks still balled in the toe, jacket in hand.

“I’m sorry, talking to me is harshing your buzz? Don’t be a dick, Ronan.”

“Never claimed to be anything else.” Ronan pointed out, walking out the door and hearing Adam follow.

The living room was a harsh, ugly reminder that the Adam that existed in that room wasn’t the only Adam. There were whole worlds of Adams he’d never even met and probably wouldn’t like.

“Okay, but–” Ronan made it to the door before Adam finished and got his hand on the doorknob. “Wait, Ronan!” It was the most commanding thing that had ever come out of Adam’s mouth and Ronan paused out of instinct and then hated himself for stopping.

“What.” Flat. Not looking back.

“Just– can you text me to let me know you got home okay?”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Ronan said, certain in that moment that he would do no such thing. Then he was out the door and just barely restraining himself from slamming it behind him.

His rage got him all the way to the subway station he needed before it started to turn bitter in his gut.

Why was he angry again?

Because Adam had tried to make him into something he wasn’t.

But also: because Adam had tried to take care of him.

Ronan didn’t like people taking care of him. Because he didn’t like to admit he needed it. And in this case he didn’t need it. It felt infantilizing. Condescending.

But also: kind of nice of him.

Shit.

By the time he got to his stop he was thirsty and shaking again. But his head was on straight. He walked slowly to The Brownstone and then went in easily before not-quite-collapsing right inside the door.

 

From Ronan:

            i’m home

From Adam:

            That’s good.

            How are you feeling?

 

Ronan’s first instinct was a sharp ‘fine’ but he made himself think about it.

 

From Ronan:

            honestly, i’m thirsty as fuck.

From Adam:

            Yeah, I was worried about that. Have you got the shakes at all?

From Ronan:

            …maybe

From Adam:

            I’m not going to insult you intelligence. But…

            You should drink some water (slowly) and then have something easy on the stomach, like rice.

 

Ronan looked at his cellphone for a long time. He felt anger clawing at the back of his head, but he didn’t really pay attention to it. He was used to being angry.

Instead, he got up and went into the kitchen. He filled a glass with cold water and drank it in small sips, peering into the refrigerator.

 

From Ronan:

            i’ve got some fried rice from a couple days ago.

From Adam:

            Perfect.

 

Ronan rolled his eyes as he got the rice out of the microwave.

 

From Ronan:

            thanks for the seal of approval, bro.

From Adam:

            Sorry.

From Ronan:

            it’s fine.

From Adam:

            You seem… better.

            Can we talk about what just happened?

 

Ronan ate slowly, drinking in between bites and keeping an eye on his phone as though it would turn into a snake if he didn’t watch it closely enough.

 

From Adam:

            Ronan?

From Ronan:

            sorry man, i'm crashing. i’ll talk to you tomorrow.

From Adam:

            Oh. Okay. Sleep well.

 

Ronan didn’t say anything to that, just put the rest of his rice in Chainsaw’s bowl and heaved himself up the stairs and into bed.

And still, he thought, as he fell (easily, so easily) into sleep: it was tied with last week for the best Saturday of the year.


	4. watch you try to make it right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C is for Communication, the new tag on this chapter. Because honestly if there is such a thing as healthy communication kink, this fic has got it. Also warning for reference to a suicide attempt.

Ronan crashed long and hard. He woke up after ten hours, drank three glasses of orange juice and then went back to sleep. The last few hours were fitful as he stubbornly clung to the last remnants of peace. During that time, he opened his bleary eyes enough to see an avalanche of texts had come in.

He fell asleep again before he answered any of them.

When he finally woke it was past noon and he was starving. He wasn’t sure at first what had finally woken him up but then he heard his phone buzzing with an incoming call. It had vibrated itself right off the edge of his bedside table and the clack of it hitting the floor was probably what had finally pulled him out of sleep. By the time he fished it out from under the bed the buzzing had stopped. There were approximately fifteen texts from Gansey and a more reasonable seven from Noah. There was also one from Adam but Ronan wasn’t going to think about that right now. His friends hadn’t gone as far as to get Matthew involved and they’d just recently resorted to calling him (only three missed calls) so things could be worse.

He fired off a quick text to Gansey and Noah both.

 

From Ronan:

            chill the fuck out, i was asleep. i'm awake now. anyone want waffles?

 

He couldn’t entirely blame them. Gansey had long since adjusted to their shared insomnia and texted at all hours of the night. If Ronan didn’t answer for a few hours, then it was assumed that he caught some sleep. Any more than five hours straight without a response and Gansey started to worry. Gansey was good at worrying.

It was annoying, now, nearly eight years since Noah had come back to their dorm room to find Ronan bleeding out in their shared bathroom. After so long Noah and Gansey should have been calmer about the occasional periods without communication. But solitude and sobriety were still new to Ronan, and both Gansey and Noah tended to think change had the possibility of upsetting his own uneasy relationship with his mental health. Ronan didn’t, exactly, disagree. But the monsters of his youth had been more or less vanquished by healthy outlets and a well-tailored medication regime. He had different demons these days.

Still, Gansey called again while Ronan was peeing. He answered.

“What did I say about calling me when I’m on the pot?”

“Don’t be vulgar. And what did I say about answering while you’re in the restroom?”

“Yeah, because if I hadn’t answered you _definitely_ wouldn’t be banging on my door in ten minutes.”

There was a silence on the line.

“Oh my god, Gansey you’re already on your way here?”

“You should just be glad that Noah is babysitting their nieces and couldn’t come themself.”

“Small mercies.”

“I can get waffles on the way though.” It was an apology for something that didn’t truly need an apology. Ronan made no secret of how much he hated the hovering, but he hated it because he hated that his friends worried, hated that he had once hated himself so much as to make it necessary. But he didn’t hate it in a way that made him love them any less.

“Yeah, you better,” he said, because he was still an asshole. “Thanks. For checking on me. I really was just sleeping.” Because he wasn’t that much of an asshole. Anymore.

“Yeah, I bet you were ‘just sleeping’ for at least twelve straight hours. I’m going to want a better explanation over breakfast, so you better start preparing your story.”

“I’ll get my outlining notebook out.”

“You do that.”

Ronan hung up and got dressed, took his meds and fed Chainsaw.

Gansey showed up 35 minutes later. Ronan greeted him with a glare.

“You weren’t even that close. You could have gone home,” Ronan said.

“I was close actually. I just had to backtrack to that waffle place you like.”

“Ghia’s?” Ronan said, making grabby-hands for the bag of sweet styrofoam-encased goodness.

“Where else?”

“Shit, you didn’t have to do that, dude.”

“Well, I did. Bro.” The last word was pronounced with the stilted inflection of a WASP insisting on using the _original_ pronunciation of a common loan word. “Now let me in and tell me what on _earth_ you’ve been up to.”

Ronan walked ahead of him into the dining room, leaving Gansey to close the door and follow.

Gansey gave him a look when he came in and saw Ronan eating waffles out of their takeout boxes using mostly his fingers.

“That’s disgusting.”

Ronan gave him an open mouthed smile and almost choked on his mouthful at Gansey’s appalled face.

Gansey went into the kitchen to get a plate for himself and (ever hopeful) utensils for them both.

Ronan ate ravenously. Gansey had gotten enough to feed a family of four so he wasn’t worried it would run out. He just didn’t really want to speak yet. Gansey placidly cut into his own portion and waited.

“I met someone,” Ronan said, when he was finally too full to continue delaying the conversation via waffle inhalation.

Gansey paused for a second before taking a bite and chewing slowly.

“Where did you meet him?”

“At a club.”

Gansey gave him a searching look. But despite knowing every single secret Ronan had tried to keep since he was sixteen, there were things he and Gansey didn’t really _talk_ about. So, unlike Calla, he didn’t ask what kind of club, just read whatever answer there was to be found in Ronan’s expression.

“Okay.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“But he was over last night?”

Ronan’s first instinct was to snort at the idea of bringing someone back to The Brownstone. Then he remembered the bowled over feeling of seeing Adam’s bedroom and he swallowed thickly instead.

“Nah, I was at his. And then I came home and crashed. I really was just sleeping.”

He could tell Gansey wanted to ask more questions, probably wondering if he’d just been sleeping the sleep of the well-fucked or if he’d taken something while over at Adam’s house. But in situations like this, Gansey’s politeness worked against him. It was one of the reasons Ronan knew to be grateful for Calla’s bluntness.

Ronan got up and poured them both coffee while Gansey stewed, trying to find some way around his own prudishness. He didn’t seem to manage it because as Ronan sat back down he asked:

“Do I get to meet him?”

Ronan choked on his coffee.

“Fuck,” he choked out, coughing. “It’s really not like that.”

“Not like what?” Gansey asked, purposely obtuse.

“We’re not, you know, dating. It’s more like friends with benefits.” Ronan thought for a second. “Except without the friendship.”

“Fuckbuddies?” Gansey suggested although it looked like it hurt him to say.

“With light on the buddies. But yeah, basically. Like I said, not a big deal.”

Gansey put down his knife and fork and looked thoughtful.

“Is that all you want?”

Ronan gave a gusty, world-weary sigh.

“Don’t start on that ‘you deserve the best in life’ crap.”

Gansey frowned.

“It’s not crap, Ronan. Don’t say that.”

Ronan huffed.

“Fine, it’s not. But sometimes I don’t want everything life has to offer, even if I ‘deserve’ it.”

“You can’t lock yourself away forever.” Gansey said, so somber and heartfelt that on anyone else it would have been ridiculous. Only Gansey could pull off that level of sickening sincerity.

“I just told you I met someone! That’s distinctly the opposite of locking myself away.” Ronan pointed out heatedly.

“I’m sorry, I know. I didn’t mean to be less than supportive. And I don’t know this man. Maybe a relationship between the two of you wouldn’t work. All I’m trying to say is be open and know that you deserve to be happy.”

“You’re gonna make me lose my breakfast.” Ronan said bitterly, because that level of blunt caring disconcerted him, even coming from Gansey.

After breakfast Gansey took a nap on the couch, since he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, while Ronan answered emails from his editor and publicist in the dining room.

And the thing was, Gansey – per fucking usual, unfortunately – knew what he was talking about; Ronan hadn’t even thought of wanting _more_ from Adam. Now that the idea was in his head he had to run over everything he knew about Adam in his mind: the second chance at a first impression the night they met, the occasional winky face in texts as though concerned about seeming too severe, how he looked in a suit at their second meeting, his insistence on open communication about scenes, all the way up to his concern about aftercare the night before. The thing was, Adam was pretty much solid, certified gold-standard boyfriend material. And now that stupid Gansey had put that stupid thought in his head it wouldn’t leave.

He had finished the final draft so he couldn’t even write to distract himself. But he got the okay from his publicist to post the first teaser for the book on his blog, so he did that, and then tried to remain calm as the reactions poured in.

They were, overwhelmingly, positive. There wasn’t a large breadth of attention, but among the people who did see the announcement there was a disproportionate number of exclamation points per sentence. All caps were used with a comforting regularity in the shares and comments on the post. But then there were, of course, the assholes.

Ronan was more or less used to assholes by now. Every corner of the internet had theirs, his playground was no exception. Noah said that being an asshole gave you a thicker skin when it came to other assholes. That conversation had quickly devolved until dirty jokes were so thick on the ground that it was basically just friendly dirty talk. Still, Ronan thought they were probably right about the general idea.

The only thing that did faze him, and which cropped up a few hours after posting, as Gansey snuffled into wakefulness in the living room, was accusations of plagiarism. Like fuck was he gonna be the next Cassie Clare. When Gansey finally got up and shuffled through the dining room towards the smell of coffee, Ronan waylaid him.

“Gans, I know you taught me not to feed the trolls, but I gotta address this, right?”

As Gansey took his seat and started reading the comments Ronan had pulled up, Ronan went to get him a metric fuckton of coffee.

“Absolutely do not address these.” Gansey said when Ronan came back into the dining room.

“You’re shitting me.”

“No. I dealt with something similar with one of my research papers. It was an academic leveling the accusations, but otherwise it was the same. He was just as childish as these people actually; it was quite embarrassing for him.”

Ronan couldn’t help but smile.

“What should I do then?”

“Talk to a lawyer.”

Ronan stiffened and the smile dropped away.

“Gans, I know your father m-”

“Oh god no, not my father.”

“What?”

“I don’t go to my father with my legal issues if I can help it. A few years ago I made an excellent acquaintance with an associate at his firm that now specializes in copyright law. You’ll like him, his name’s Adam.”

Ronan couldn’t help but feel his face heat even though Adam was a perfectly common name. Gansey just fished out a card and handed it over. Ronan immediately folded it in half and stuck it between the lid of the laptop and the hard shell of the case. It was the only place he could put things where he’d be guaranteed not to lose it.

“He’s a good guy.” Gansey reassured. He knew how Ronan felt about lawyers. Ronan _humphed_ noncommittally. “Call him tomorrow and set up an appointment. Don’t- don’t mention me.”

Ronan looked more closely at Gansey’s face and saw an unmistakable blush.

“You _like_ this guy.”

“Please, Ronan. Don’t be ridiculous, he’s my lawyer.”

“Yeah and you’ve got a big gay crush on your lawyer. Damn, Dick.”

Gansey glared but his cheeks were still slightly pink so Ronan knew he was right. If Gansey was making that face this guy was a DILF and Gansey probably would have made a move if his upstanding sense of honor would have allowed it. Or if he wasn’t staging a complicated new age romance novel with some baristas, as Noah’s gossip suggested.

After coffee and some more teasing Gansey cited publishing deadlines and fled back to his apartment, the coward. Ronan was sorely tempted to spend the rest of the day stalking his own blog and reading every single comment, but instead he watched TV with Chainsaw on his lap and eventually forced himself to go grocery shopping because even he got sick of takeout after a while.

Unsurprisingly, considering how much he’d slept the night before, his insomnia hit especially hard that night. He got out his collection of notebooks and pens and began plotting out another story he’d dreamt about the night before. It wasn’t novel material, but it could make a decent short story. He was thinking of publishing a collection of short stories if he could write a few more.

He fell asleep for a few hours around dawn, then dragged himself out of bed and made the trek over to Seoneok, Gansey and Greenmantle on approximately three hours sleep, wishing he could be doing anything else but this. Usually he saw Calla on Mondays, but she was at some kooky convention of psychics or something so his appointment had been pushed back to later in the week.

He only remembered when he got there that Gansey had said to call. It didn’t matter, he was here now so this Adam guy was damn well gonna see him.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t have an appointment.” Ronan said, to the receptionist, for the third time. She was clearly new, most receptionists at places like this were total sharks, willing to stand unblinking in the face of anything, but this girl already looked shaken when Ronan had shoved the card into her face. “But I’m gonna go in anyway. And you’re really not gonna stop me. So either you can tell me where his office is,” his voice was sunny but sharp; he was not in a patient mood, “or I can just wander around disturbing every person I come across until I make it up to Mr. Gansey himself. Have I mentioned I’m a close personal friend of his son, Dick Gansey?”

The receptionist had gone pale. Quickly she gave him directions up to Adam’s office on the 7th floor.

“But- but you can’t go in. You’ll have to wait outside.”

“Sure thing, babe, I’ll definitely to do that.” Ronan said with an intentionally shark-like smile before turning away and rolling his eyes.

The thing was, it was worse up in the quiet of the office, with the bustling of interns and paralegals and executive assistants just outside the door.

The last time he’d been in this building his father’s name had still been on the door. His mother and father had just died and he and Declan were set to inherit the estate, with the liquid assets going to Declan along with responsibility over Matthew, and The Brownstone going to Ronan. Except, the will was a few months old and used Ronan’s birth name, which he had just recently gotten legally changed. It shouldn’t have been a big issue, not with Niall and his closet friends all being lawyers. Except, just before his death, Niall had had a falling out with Greenmantle and as a partner in the firm executing the will, Colin was in a position to make inheritance difficult for Ronan.

It had unfolded into a shouting match with Ronan, nineteen, grief-stricken, and overflowing with rage, vowing to kill Greenmantle if he tried to take his home from him, and Declan coldly telling Ronan not to _make a scene_. Ronan had never forgiven him for that.

Even now, just sitting here in a much smaller and messier office made Ronan feel rubbed raw by the memories. He counted the seconds as they ticked away on the clock and he fidgeted with his bag and his notebooks and eventually the unimaginative ‘decorative’ paperweight on the lawyer’s desk, until finally, there was a sigh from behind him.

“Sorry, sir, but you don’t have an appointment and–”

It was Adam. His Adam. Walking into the room with his head down, speaking in that carefully distanced tone of voice that still set something in Ronan on fire.

“Adam?” It slipped out. That was Adam and in a city of eight and a half million, there was simply no way that Gansey’s lawyer Adam was the same Adam he met at a play party two weeks ago.

But his head shot up and there was no mistaking him. 

* * *

Adam still hadn’t heard anything from Ronan by Sunday. He texted once, just in case Ronan had forgotten that they’d meant to talk.

 

From Adam:

            Feeling better?

 

Nothing. If it had been one of Adam’s friends he would call, or at least text often enough that he couldn’t be ignored. Hell, if it was Blue he would just show up wherever she was and make sure physically that she was okay. But considering how they got into this situation Adam felt hovering (even the virtual variety) would not be the smartest idea. So he texted once and then left it at that.

He threw himself into work and stubbornly didn’t think about what had happened, about what Ronan was thinking or about what their next scene would be like (if it ever happened). His Sunday schedule was busy so it was easy to not think about anything Ronan-related.

Monday dawned late and dark, winter light barely penetrating the fogged-up windows of Henry’s. Blue was grumpy to be up so early and tried to bully him into a 30-second update on the Ronan situation as he paid but Adam’s head was already in work space and he put her off until Tuesday.

Despite all his prep on Sunday, Monday morning still swallowed him whole. He’d been out of law school for two years now. He had clients and specialties and countless cases under his belt. He had his own (shoebox of an) office for god’s sake. But still, it didn’t get easier. Despite his carefully laid out schedule and his parceled out “self-care” time, most weeks he still felt like he was just trying to keep himself from drowning.

Growing up, all through college, he had known exactly what he wanted: he wanted to live in a fancy apartment in New York and have a high paying job doing something that people would respect him for. He wanted to know people and not have to worry about bills and finally feel like he was worth the air he breathed.

He had all that, and yet not the last. He was still cripplingly lonely most days, except for the short periods of time Blue was there to pull him out of his own head. He still felt like he was just holding onto his position in the firm by his fingernails and if he so much as breathed wrong it could all come tumbling down and he’d be nothing again.

He was in control of his own life, his own fortune, as a child that had been all he’d ever wanted. But he held that control so precariously that it felt poisoned, left him exhausted and anxious and _empty_.

He didn’t know what to do when you had everything you ever wanted and it still wasn’t enough.

Adam had just enough time between appointments to duck out and get lunch from a food truck a couple blocks over and if he was really lucky he’d have time to eat it.

Of course, he wasn’t that lucky.

When he came back, clutching a bag that was too greasy for the polished look of the law firm, one of the receptionists stopped him.

“You have a Mr. Lynch waiting for you.”

“He doesn’t have an appointment.”

“He was… very insistent.” She looked a bit frightened. “He’s waiting outside your office. I told him he couldn’t go in.”

There was no one waiting outside his office, but the door was open and through the frosted glass he could see a figure inside. That was just great. Adam squared his shoulders, ready to deal with some minor CEO on the outs with his company and looking to take it out on the nearest available lawyer.

He kept his head down, intent on getting his embarrassingly low-brow food out of sight before it could be remarked upon.

“Sorry, sir, but you don’t have an appointment and–”

“Adam?”

Adam’s head shot up. Ronan was in his office, hands paused where they had been playing with a paperweight. Adam could feel the blood drain from his face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Adam hissed, dropping the food on a free space on his desk and quickly moving to shut the door. Shit, how long had Ronan been here? Who could he have talked to? He was in Adam’s office, which was surprisingly straightforward; was he blackmailing him?

The only thing that stopped his frantic thoughts was how _surprised_ Ronan looked.

“You know Gansey?” he said, which did not answer Adam’s question at all.

“You did see the name on the front of the building, right?” Adam said, sharply.

“Not that Gansey. Dick– Dick Gansey.”

And the thing was Adam did know a Dick Gansey. He had met Gansey at the tail end of summer before his last year at Columbia. He had secured an internship at Seondeok, Gansey and Greenmantle. But despite his name being on the door, there was little opportunity to meet the younger Gansey. He was somewhat of a myth between the fellow interns: the storied eldest son, who refused to follow in his mother’s footsteps to guide the country, or even in his father’s footsteps to guide the company. Instead, the gossip went, he walked the world and wrote _travel books_. In a bullpen full of ambitious and cutthroat twenty-somethings this was tantamount to saying he bummed around the country killing hitchhikers for fun.

Adam didn’t quite see it that way. But from the first word he heard of the errant Gansey, he felt a stirring of jealousy like old dried blood at the back of his throat. It was something he hadn’t felt since high school. Adam had to remind himself: he may not have gone to the rich, prestigious private boarding school back in Virginia, but he’d still been accepted to Columbia not once but twice, still made it through three years at Columbia Law, still gotten this internship at one of the most prestigious law firms in the country. It didn’t matter that he had had to fight for every single thing he had. It didn’t matter that he had worked two or three jobs through college and still had mountains of student loans. It didn’t matter that he’d never left the country, much less seen the world, because he was too busy killing himself to fit in with the rich elites who would have turned up their noses if they saw the dirt Adam was grown in.

Dick Gansey had been handed everything Adam had ever worked for, and he’d turned it away. It was a hard pill to swallow but being angry at someone you’d never met was exhausting and Adam didn’t have the time.

But then, rather suddenly, Adam _had_ met him.

It was at the last company event of the summer, a special invitation-only party for those interns who were most likely to be asked back for a position post-graduation. All the partners of the firm were there, shaking hands and drinking champagne. Although one particularly pretentious prick, an intern that Adam had spent the summer loathing, was quick to point out that it was _technically_ sparkling wine, unless it had specifically come from the Champagne region of France. Adam resisted rolling his eyes.

The man standing across from him had no such compunctions and Adam had to bite back a laugh at his theatrical, put-upon sigh. Their eyes met and they shared a moment of weariness in a sea of assholes high off their own success stories. When the rest of the group moved as one herd toward the refreshments table Adam hung back and stood beside the other man for a moment. Now that Adam looked carefully, he could see the man didn’t appear to be much older than Adam himself.

“Adam,” he said, then remembered everything he’d learned in 7 years of posh Ivy League parties. “Parrish,” he finished, because what was the point of networking if they didn’t know your name. He held out his hand, the one not holding an untouched glass of champagne.

“Dick.”

“Who? Louis?” he said, thinking of the “sparkling wine” comment.

His companion barked out a laugh.

“No, me actually. It’s my name. Although he certainly is one as well.”

“Oh.” Adam blushed a little at his mistake. “I haven’t seen you around, are you a visiting associate?”

“God no.” Adam raised an eyebrow at the quick response and then it was Dick’s turn to blush. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a lawyer. It’s just- I’m a writer.”

“Oh? A journalist?” Adam asked, wondering if he was about to have his name in the society column. Do newspapers even have society columns anymore? Adam couldn’t think of the last time he’d picked up a newspaper.

“No, more of a historian,” he said, eyes darting across the room quickly before settling back on Adam. He must have seen something there he liked because Dick leaned in and his eyes sparkled with the reflected lights of the city. “What do you know about Welsh kings?” he asked, smiling suddenly and Adam couldn’t help but smile back.

They were dragged apart a few times by other party-goers trying to work the room and Adam knew he should be doing the same thing. But somehow talking to Dick was not so arduous and soul-sucking as the usual glad-handing. It was actually almost fun to discuss South American ley lines and, somehow, absurdly, British breeds of pigeon. He found himself drawn back to Dick whenever his other conversations ran dry, and Dick always seemed happy to see him and glad to talk more about his research.

By the end of the night Dick was a little pink in the cheeks from the champagne and Adam was trying hard not to notice. He was pretty sure picking up guys at a work event wasn’t exactly appropriate. But Dick was nice so Adam offered to call him a taxi.

“Oh,” Dick said, seemingly surprised that the room had emptied of all but the senior partners and the most determined brown-nosers. “I suppose I should wait for my father.”

“Your father?” Adam said, looking around the room, expecting to see some stodgy old professor type.

“You really don’t know?” Dick said, but he looked pleased.

Warily, Adam shook his head. Dick fished his phone out of his breast pocket and took down Adam’s number.

“I like you Adam Parrish. And don’t call me Dick. My friends call me Gansey.” And then he smiled warmly one last time before walking over to… Gansey Sr. and oh.

Well shit.

The elder Gansey turned at his approach and sent a desultory wave in Adam’s direction. Flustered, Adam returned the gesture.

On the way back to his apartment Adam felt around inside, trying to decide if he was angry. But Gansey had pulled the maneuver off magnificently: he hadn’t lied (his name was Dick, and he really did write books about his research all over the world, which the rumor mill had snidely turned into “travel books”), he had been nice enough that Adam couldn’t hold his privileges against him (much), and he had secretly helped Adam network better than he could possibly have done on his own. In the end Adam just laughed to himself in the back of a cab, bowled over but still somehow pleased.

After that Adam had gotten texts from Gansey every few weeks, always casually bringing up something they had discussed or something that Gansey was doing. In return Adam did him the service of not talking about school work or lawyerly things because he was sure that Gansey was beyond uninterested. It got more challenging as his last year progressed and he pushed himself harder and harder in preparation for taking the bar.

Eventually he noticed that nearly every time Gansey would text, Adam’s hands would already be shaking from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. So he would take Gansey’s text as a little personal alarm system: time to take a break and call Blue, time to sleep or eat or otherwise do something that didn’t involve law school in any way, just for a little while. Just until he could text Gansey back without his hands shaking. It helped, even if he justified it as ‘networking’ to himself.

But he didn’t really think of it that way. He figured it would give him something to talk to the elder Gansey about if they ended up at the same party once he was back at the firm. But Adam didn’t really think of it as a calculated career move.

Except, as it turned out, Gansey was playing the long game.

Adam had been an associate at Sendeok, Gansey and Greenmantle for 6 months when he landed his first big client, one Richard Campbell Gansey III. Gansey walked up to his desk as if he owned the place (which to be fair, he almost did) and asked for legal advice.

“What? Gansey, your father is a lawyer.”

“I’d noticed.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Please, if I ask my father a question about law over dinner he would completely monopolize the conversation. Besides, I don’t want my father to be my lawyer, he’s myopic.”

At that Adam had to laugh, but quickly cut himself off with a look around. No one had noticed.

“And I’m not? Gansey have you met me?”

“Please. You’re not so bad. You managed to hold several conversations about something other than law while preparing to take the bar. Besides, by this point you probably know more about my research than my father does, which will come in handy.”

Adam sighed, accepting, quietly, that Gansey had tricked Adam into accepting a helping hand once again. “What’s the problem?”

“The History Channel is starting a special called ‘Finding Glendower’ which is fairly obviously based on my series of books.”

“To be fair, you can’t actually copyright a historical figure.” Adam said, carefully. But Gansey just smiled and pulled an alarmingly thick stack of papers from his messenger bag.

“I thought you might say that,” he said, arranging the papers into two piles. “Here,” he said, putting his hand possessively over the first page, “is the text from all my published research papers and books about Glendower. And that,” he gestured at the other stack, “is the working script for the History Channel special. We just have to find the overlap.”

With anyone else, “we” would have been a euphemism for “you”; the royal we that means “I’ve got better shit to do”. But Gansey continued to surprise him, and pulled up a chair to help with the work.

“And should I ask how you managed to get a copy of the working script?”

“Please, Adam. As a historian I make a point of having contacts in every major historical publication or broadcast, even ones that produce such affronts to research as ‘ _Ancient Aliens_ ’.”

Adam had laughed, but found that he was actually looking forward to this case.

It took three days to find every single sentence, or sometimes entire paragraphs, lifted directly from Gansey’s work. Adam knew they had a case halfway through the first day, but he had always appreciated thoroughness. Along the way Gansey found another few pages of inaccuracies in the original work which almost seemed to bother him more than the plagiarism.

By the end of the week they had an injunction to stop production on the show until a judge could hear their case. Adam felt confident of the outcome.

But they settled out of court, which was less flashy but definitely smarter, because really Gansey _wanted_ to share his research with a wider audience, he just didn’t want to have his work plagiarized in the process. So he got to review and edit their script and an assistant writer credit out of the deal. That was really all he wanted.

This, as it turned out, was the beginning of a troublingly beneficial arrangement. Troubling mainly because Adam didn’t know how to pay Gansey back for the favor he was doing Adam. If he had the chance he would have refused the many clients Gansey sent his way after that. But unfortunately Gansey was too clever for that and more often than not Adam didn’t even realize he had been involved until the case was settled by which time he couldn’t very well dissolve the retainer agreement.

It didn’t help matters that he began to get a name for himself as a copyright expert. He had no particular interest in it, but copyright infringement was a growing field and there were plenty of people looking to defend their works. There were enough writer-types coming to Adam’s door that it was hard to tell which of them might have had a connection with Gansey. Except one, apparent, exception.

“Are you looking for a lawyer?” Adam asked Ronan, almost shaking with the precious hope that this wasn’t going to end horrifically.

* * *

“That’s what brings most people here, isn’t it?” Ronan asked, and it wasn’t as biting as he had intended. But it still made Adam grit his teeth and Ronan didn’t want this. He didn’t want to care about Adam’s worried eyes but he did. So he sighed, ran his hand over his head, and explained. “Gansey said you were the copyright guru and I’m going to be publishing soon.” It didn’t feel good enough. “Adam’s a pretty common name. I didn’t think anything of it.” He wanted to break something.

Adam looked up at the ceiling and said in a small voice, “Small world,” which was what Ronan thought would have been his first reaction. But he breathed out and his shoulders slumped and he looked a little more like the Adam that Ronan knew.

“Why were you so freaked out?” Ronan asked, before he could stop himself.

Adam gave him a look that said, loud and clear, ‘I don’t trust you not to fuck me over’ and, more quietly, ‘you have the power to hurt me.’ Ronan hated that look. He didn’t want the power and he did want the trust. Everything was all wrong.

“You made me sign the NDA, it’s not like I could say anything,” he pointed out.

“The thing about NDAs is even if you can be prosecuted for saying something, you can’t actually make people unhear what they heard.” Adam said bitterly, and the idea that Ronan was some secret that shouldn’t be talked about in the presence of Adam’s proper upstanding coworkers made him feel dirty.

“Right. Well, I’m not that particular brand of asshole. But I can go, I’ll see if Gansey ca-” He didn’t want to go. Even though a minute ago it had been all he wanted. He just didn’t want to leave with this sick feeling in his chest.

“No, Ronan.” Adam sat. “I’m sorry,” he really did look sorry was the thing, “I didn’t know what to think. Don’t go.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Well, actually, you kind of need an appointment. I’ve got a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

Fuck. Anyone else and Ronan would have tried to bully them into giving him a meeting. But something told him Adam wouldn’t be impressed by his connections.

“When are you free?” Ronan asked, trying not to sound desperate.

“I’ve got meetings until 5:00 but if you want to come back then, we can talk publishing.”

He only had to waste four hours. That would be easy. He didn’t need anything from Adam. Well, legal advice. But that was it.

“Yeah.” Flippant, none of this mattered. “Sure thing.” Ronan mock saluted and made his escape.

He didn’t breathe properly until he was out of the shadow of the looming building.

He wandered for a while, ended up in front of a museum, went in, stared semi-vacantly at the art until the quiet became stifling, then went outside and texted Noah.

 

From Ronan:

            how were the nieces?

From Noah:

            Amazing as usual. They colored in my tats :)))

            What’re u up to today? Bc I’m free.

From Ronan:

            yeeeaah about that

            you know that guy I told you about?

From Noah:

            The one u left the party w/ last weekend?

From Ronan:

            yea, that one

            so turns out he’s Gansey’s lawyer

From Noah:

            Fuck!! Ur kidding!! How’d u find that out?

From Ronan:

            i walked into his office and recognized him

From Noah:

            Fuuuuuuck, how’d that do?

            *go

From Ronan:

            about as good as you’d expect. I think HE thought I came to air all his dirty kinky laundry around his office??

From Noah:

            Shit, shit. Plz tell me u didn’t break ur hand on his face…

 

And that was a thought. Anger was Ronan’s safest emotion. It was an old friend. And yes if he’d kept it in his hands he’d probably have smashed that paperweight. But he hadn’t wanted to lash out, not really. He’d been angry, but the kind of angry that he knew by now was more about being hurt than actually being pissed.

 

From Ronan:

            nope, very calmly left and promised to come back when he wasn’t busy

From Noah:

            HOLY SHIT, u r growing as a person! Im so proud!

From Ronan:

            yea, something like that

From Noah:

            U really like this guy don’t you?

From Ronan:

            you sound like Dick

From Noah:

            U mean the 2 ppl who know u best agree on something?? Must be bullshit then

From Ronan:

            fuck right off

From Noah:

            Hahaha, I call it like I see it

From Ronan:

            whatever

 

He began making his way back to the firm. He walked slowly, trying to beat the old demons into silence in his head, trying not to think of anything. He got there around 5:00, bypassed the receptionists completely and headed up to Adam’s office.

“Ro- Mr. Lynch.” Adam said when he saw Ronan in the doorway. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk and everything from the smell of fresh ink to the sound of paper-pushers to fucking ‘Mr. Lynch’ was so much like the last day he was here that it made him sick.

He forced himself to sit but he couldn’t stop his leg from jiggling erratically.

“Now,” _‘Now Mr. Lynch, there is an issue regarding your father’s will-_ ’ no, “you wanted to discuss issues related to publishing?”

Ronan suddenly knew that he definitively _couldn’t do this_. Calla was always telling him to find his limits and then police them. Well it turned out this was a limit. The knowledge was almost calming.

“Can we get out of here?” Ronan asked, because he didn’t want to say ‘I’m gonna have a panic attack if we don’t leave in about 90 seconds.’

“We’re having a meeting.”

“I thought real hot shot lawyers had meetings over drinks.” Ronan said, flippant because he wanted _out_.

“You don’t drink.” Adam said sharply. And yeah, but the last time he’d been here, he’d drunk himself into a blackout that night and it had felt _so good_.

Ronan flinched away from the memory.

“Dinner then.” Ronan focused on Adam’s face enough to see how closed off it was. “Nothing- just business. Business conducted somewhere that’s not here.”

“It’s only 5:00.”

“I hear that’s when a work day is usually over.” Ronan said, not caring in that moment that he was admitting to never working a day in his life. Then he remembered. “But you usually don’t leave the office until 7:30.” He had remembered thinking briefly that Adam sounded like a workaholic when he had told Ronan his schedule. This was gonna be a hard sell.

* * *

 

It struck Adam like the first smattering of rain from a fall thunderstorm: cold and cleansing; Ronan remembered that tiny detail of a conversation they had had almost a week ago. Ronan listened to what Adam said, carefully. And he was willing to accept that Adam’s schedule did not allow him to simply flounce out of the office before it was even 5:30.

Adam’s mouth opened and closed without him consciously thinking about it. Then he looked at the way Ronan’s hands were tangled together and white knuckled and remembered that first scene, remembered Ronan’s “we keep pants on” that was distinctly not a question and yet simultaneously a plea. This was the same.

He looked like a wild animal caught in a hunter’s trap, with his scarred brow and dangerous blue eyes, already thinking about gnawing at its own leg for that chance at freedom. And suddenly it didn’t matter that Adam had promised himself this was going to be professional.

Fuck professional.

“Yeah, okay.” Adam said, before he could second guess himself. “Let me get some stuff I’ll need to work on later. Then we can go.”

Ronan slumped in the chair, eyelids fluttering closed for a half second before he gathered himself back together and said, obnoxiously magnanimous, “Sure. I’ll wait.”

Adam stuffed approximately a third of the contents of his desk into his briefcase, trying to assuage the workaholic’s guilt at leaving so early. Then they left. Adam knew the area fairly well by now, but he didn’t want to risk running into someone else from the firm. He wasn’t doing anything _wrong_ , Adam reminded himself, it was a business dinner. If he met another associate in a restaurant they would be there doing the same thing. He gritted his teeth and led Ronan to an appropriately up-scale restaurant that he’d been to several Thursdays ago with the partners.

They were seated quickly and Adam got out his legal pad to start taking notes before their food arrived.

“So what seems to be the issue?” he asked, meeting Ronan’s intense gaze that seemed to almost look through him.

* * *

He could breathe easier now that they had put the offices behind them. Ronan stared at Adam, trying to see the man who’d given him two amazing scenes, not the man who had implied that Ronan was his dirty little secret. It was difficult to reconcile the two sides of Adam in his head. Was he opening up about something as personal as his book to Adam, or to a lawyer?

 “Well,” he began, hesitantly, “I have a fairly strong online presence. I’ve never published a longer piece before but my short stories have somewhat of a cult following on certain areas of the internet.”

“Is this – I’m assuming it’s a novel – based on one of those previously published stories? Because depending on where they were published–”

And, _oh_. Adam was smart. That was something Ronan had assumed, but he hadn’t known it definitively before this moment.

“No, this story is new. And yeah, it’s a novel. But the thing is, I have a back and forth with a lot of people who follow my blog. We have conversations about past work and things I’m doing now, although nothing to spoil my current project.”

“Okay, so far I’m not seeing a problem.” Adam said, making some note on his notepad that Ronan didn’t try to read upside down (he had done that with Calla a lot in the beginning before realizing she would write down her shopping list just to give him something to read).

“Yeah, well my editor suggested starting to promote my book. So I posted a blurb just so the title and premise could start circulating.” Adam nodded as Ronan spoke. “And almost immediately I got a few people cropping up saying I’d stolen the idea from them.”

“Ah.” It was so fucking _careful_ ; Ronan clenched his fist under the table.

“I didn’t,” he said, trying to sound firm rather than defensive, “Steal the idea? I know that’s what you’re thinking. But I didn’t.”

“Okay.” As if it was that easy. As though Ronan wasn’t some lying junkie fuckup. How did Adam make it seem so easy? “The burden of proof rests with them, they would have to show in court that your idea came from them. But if you had any counter-evidence…”

“I keep all my correspondence if that’s what you mean.” He didn’t mention that it had started as a young writer desperate for every scrap of appreciation and had turned into an adult who more or less hoarded everything, be it kind or cruel, about his work.

“Perfect, have you looked at the conversations with the fans in question?”

“Yeah, I have them on my phone.” Ronan passed Adam his phone, trying not to feel awkward about showing someone he barely knew – a hookup, a _lawyer_ – his messages with fans.

Adam didn’t get very far before he stopped and looked up.

“I don’t know how similar any of these ideas are to your novel, because I don’t know what your novel is about.”

“Oh,” Ronan said, because somehow he hadn’t expected Adam to actually give a shit about some dude who walked into his office and demanded an appointment on no notice. “I guess you do need to know that, huh?” Just for something to say.

Adam shrugged as though apologizing for the imposition of asking a writer their favorite question in the world: ‘what’s your book about?’

Ronan started to explain. It wasn’t the brief, messy version he’d given Calla, or the polished version he gave strangers. Adam needed to know the details if he was going to understand the plot points or characters he’d supposedly “stolen”. At first he was barely covering his nerves. But as he got into the meat of the plot something strange happened. Adam seemed to be listening. Listening closely, attentively, and there was a glow in his eye that seemed almost engaged. It was like talking to Gansey or Noah, where even if they didn’t understand, they tried to, and they… well, they cared about what he was talking about, simply because it was him talking. It didn’t make sense to see it here, with Adam.

But it gave him to confidence to digress, to let the words flow, to really give the writer’s answer to a writer’s favorite question. And Adam didn’t stop him. Didn’t look bored. Actually asked a few clarifying questions that showed he was paying attention. And he took notes, but they were hurried and ugly, like a student trying to keep up with a favorite teacher rather than a dispassionate lawyer taking notes on the rambling of a new client. It was a strange and thrilling thing.

Finally, when Ronan had worn himself out Adam nodded and turned back to the phone still sitting in front of him. Their food had arrived so Ronan took the time while Adam was reading to demolish his, occasionally looking up to see what Adam was doing. And each time he seemed to be reading the emails as he ate one-handed, face earnest yet interested.

Eventually he handed the phone back to Ronan.

“I don’t see anything but a passing similarities between their ideas and yours. It’s true, there are some unfortunate coincidences between later plot points and ideas these readers brought up, but I don’t think there’s enough here to build a case.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too. But Gansey said I might need to change some details in order to clear up the ‘coincidences’.” It was something he’d said just before he left yesterday and it had left a foul taste in Ronan’s mouth.

“I don’t see why. Most of these types of cases are ended with a small settlement, if lawyers are involved at all, and at worse it could damage your credibility among hardcore-fan types, but with the commercial success I think you’ll have, that won’t matter much.”

And that almost sounded like, but no. That would be stupid.

“What makes you think I’ll have commercial success?” he asked, bluffing like his life depended on it. But his mouth went dry at the last moment and he had to hastily drink some water.

“I have ears? Even if you can’t write for shit, which I doubt, you’ve got an imagination that can create whole worlds out of nothing but air. That counts for a lot.”

Shit. Shit. That hadn’t sounded mocking. It wasn’t “‘course you can write, you’re a fucking natural born _liar”_ or “fuck, still wasting time on that, jesus you know you’re never gonna get it together” and Ronan felt almost sick with the sincerity in Adam’s voice.

“Anyway,” he said, just for something to say, something to gloss over that awful kindness, “there was one other comment I didn’t pull emails for.”

“Oh?”

“It was anonymous, so I couldn’t see if I’d spoken to them before. But… it had pretty accurate details about a character that doesn’t show up until ¾ of the way through the book, so I didn’t want to dismiss it entirely.” He didn’t say that the comment had been just the right brand of offhand vicious to sound like the voice in the back of his head.

“Well, they can’t sue you anonymously, and the ideas are original so there’s no way it can be anything but a good guess. Still, keep an eye out for more messages in that vein.”

“Yeah, okay.” Ronan didn’t press the point. Didn’t know why he wanted to second guess Adam’s strange faith in him. He didn’t want to think about why he was so uncomfortable all of a sudden.

When they finished Ronan reached for the check, wanting this to be more equal, wanting it to be something other than Ronan asking for help (again) and Ronan begging for compliments and Ronan getting flustered by the first person to say a kind word to him. God, what the fuck.

But Adam stopped that too.

“Don’t, I can expense it,” he said.

“Right, of course,” Ronan said, biting back what he wanted to say: ‘don’t do me any favors,’ through gritted teeth.

When they were out in the cold air Ronan felt calmer, less trapped, more willing to forgive the world for its many trespasses. Before he could settle into the feeling, Adam spoke.

“I’m sorry about how I reacted earlier. You caught me off guard.” Ronan couldn’t look at him. Because the thing was, he would see something he wanted to have more than he was willing to admit. He shrugged. “I don’t lead a double life or anything. I’m just a private person.”

And it was exactly what Ronan didn’t know he wanted to hear. Not sickly sweet whispers in his ears, but kindness spoken with a ringing honesty and Ronan couldn’t handle this.

“Kind of have to be in a place like that.” Because he got it. He honestly did. Like the apartment, there was the everyday, successful, bland, outer-Adam and a vibrant, rich, inner-Adam and now that Ronan had seen both he couldn’t begrudge him his privacy.

“Yeah. But I still want to talk about what happened on Saturday. Maybe set up another scene.”

“Yeah, okay. Text me.”

“What? You don’t want to talk now? We can go to a café or my place or whatever you want.”

“No, no, I’m better over text.”

Ronan suddenly, with a jolt like a kick to the stomach, remembered Adam’s text he’d sent yesterday morning. The text he’d never responded to. He was sure Adam was thinking of the same thing. Shit, he probably thought Ronan was blowing him off.

But whatever he was thinking, he said: “I should have guessed. You’re a writer,” with a smile as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. And it was such a perfect expression that Ronan couldn’t help but smile back.

“Yeah.”

“Want to split a taxi?” Adam asked and finally Ronan could see past his own hang-ups to recognize the stubborn fragility inherent in reaching out to someone who had, now repeatedly, rebuffed your kindness. The decent thing would be to accept the olive branch.

But Ronan found himself shaking his head.

“Nah, I’m- I’m gonna walk for a bit.”

“You sure?”

Ronan tried not to let his hackles raise. He hated people second guessing his choices. But Adam had no way to know that.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’ll talk to you later.”

Ronan walked for a while, watching his feet but not paying attention to where they led him. He ended up back in front of the mammoth façade of Seondeok, Gansey and Greenmantle.

Most of the floors were dark, just a few lights left on here and there. He tried not to mentally map out the top floor to figure out which partners were still at their desks. Instead he craned his neck up and let his breath puff white and misty out of his mouth, obscuring the building, clouding the past.

Well, at least this day was better than the last time he was here, he thought. Then he took a deep breath, hailed a taxi and started to text Matthew on the way back home.

By the time they hit Brooklyn Ronan was laughing at pictures of human cuddle piles and lots of backwards snapbacks.

From Ronan:

            bring me back a hat

From Matthew:

            u kno it

            alredy hv it pickd out

            cuz ur my bestest bro <3

 

Ronan just smiled and felt warmth suffusing through him. It buoyed him all the way into The Brownstone, through feeding Chainsaw and giving himself his T injection, and up into bed.

He didn’t sleep long and woke up early to haunt his favorite coffee shop for the better part of five hours before Gansey showed up to drag him away (there was some kind of barista conspiracy between Ronan’s coffee place and Gansey’s even though they were on opposite sides of the city, which resulted in Ronan constantly getting ratted out).

Then he napped away most of the afternoon on a lumpy couch in one of the unoccupied apartments as Gansey painted the ceiling. When he woke he promptly skedaddled back to his apartment, partially so he wasn’t roped into helping with something as menial as painting, and partially because there was a voice nagging at the back of his head that he should tell Gansey about Adam. But the dominant part of him brain was definitely opposed to that idea, so he left quickly.

He had just finished making dinner (waffles; look Ronan knew what he liked), when a text came in.

From Adam:

            Do you want to talk about our last scene?

 

Shit. Well, he had said that Adam should text him.

 

From Ronan:

            not really but I will.

            i may have overreacted

From Adam:

            Okay. Can you explain why you reacted that way?

From Ronan:

            basically I don’t deal well with the “care” part of aftercare. mollycoddling gives me hives.

From Adam:

            So caring is the same thing as mollycoddling now?

From Ronan:

            you sound like my therapist.

From Adam:

            That’s probably because my mothers are therapists.

From Ronan:

            yeah well, to answer your question, I don’t know. I just have a hard time taking that ‘caring’ stuff at face value

            with

 

He sent it quickly, before he could think about what came next. Then he sat down and typed it out:

            with my ex I would remember why I loved him, I would remember that with him I could do anything, I would stay one day one week one month longer just to get a chance to get back to that moment where he cared. and worst of all, he knew it

Then he deleted what he’d written. Typed something shorter but no less true.

 

From Ronan:

            with my ex it always came with strings attached

From Adam:

            Okay.

 

There was no apology which Ronan was obscenely grateful for. If mollycoddling gave him hives, then he required an EpiPen if presented with pity. Only it would probably end with someone _else_ getting stabbed with a needle.

 

From Adam:

            Otherwise was the scene okay?

From Ronan:

            yeah

            i liked the marks the next day.

            and I’m gonna have trouble next time I go to church so thanks for that

            (but. it was good.)

From Adam:

            Awesome, good to hear. You were great. I was a little worried about the (what was the term you objected to?) themed dirty talk

From Ronan:

            that’s still a fucking awful term, I’m not backing down on that one. but you pulled it off pretty well. why hail holy queen by the way?

From Adam:

            It seemed like the… nicest? I don’t know, it didn’t talk about sin or Jesus dying on the cross so I liked it. And the website I looked up said it was common so I was pretty sure you’d know it.

From Ronan:

            wow you did research

From Adam:

            Yeah, of course.

From Ronan:

            i can’t tell if you’re joking or not

From Adam:

            Not joking.

From Ronan:

            …okay

 

What a fucking weirdo.

 

From Adam:

            Do you think you’ll have similar reactions in the future?

            To the aftercare, I mean.

From Ronan:

            why?

From Adam:

            Well, aftercare is a pretty big thing for me. If it’s totally off the table I think we may have a            problem going forward.

From Ronan:

            jesus christ, you've got to be kidding me

 

Anger bloomed suddenly, like a spiked rose. Not boiling, punching anger, but the kind that made Ronan’s face hot and his eyes burn with suppressed rage.

 

From Adam:

            Look, just give it a shot. That’s all I’m asking for.

            Let’s set up another scene and afterwards you stick around and let me take care of you at least a little

 

How dare he act so _rationally_ , Ronan thought, how dare he make Ronan out to be the crazy one.

 

From Ronan:

            i could walk away right now, there are a lot of other doms out there

 

It was a reminder more to himself than to Adam. But Adam was quick with a rejoinder.

 

From Adam:

            Of course.

            And if you want to do that, that’s completely your prerogative. Everyone’s got things they’re not willing to do, and if this is one of those things for you, then we probably wouldn’t be able to keep this up for very long anyway.

            But I’ve enjoyed our scenes together up to this point, and if you have too, I think it might be worth trying it out.

            If it helps, I’ll try to be hands-off and not, like, smother you.

 

Ronan, in almost every type of relationship he’d ever had, from familial or friendly to romantic and sexual, had at one point of another been accused of being unreasonably contentious. He was, by now, aware of this character flaw. With Gansey and Noah and Matthew, the important people, he’d made attempts to address this personal failing. Calla was very supportive and had worked him through several exercises designed to strengthen his conflict resolution skills. The point being, Ronan could recognize an opportunity for compromise when it presented itself.

Now the question was simply if he was interested in taking the chance.

Because regardless of what he’d said, he doubted he’d find another dom who worked as well with him as Adam, certainly not anytime soon. And definitely not a talented, if inexperienced, dom who also happened to be in every interaction respectful and conscientious and, dare he say it, _kind_. No, those were one in a million. Which, granted, meant there should be at least seven in the city of New York alone, but that didn’t make it any easier to find them.

So really, the decision was pretty easy. Because it boiled down to the fact that he _liked_ Adam, maybe more than he should.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give up without taking something for himself.

 

From Ronan:

            one condition: surprise me. for real this time.

From Adam:

            That… can be arranged. Thanks for giving me a shot with this.

From Ronan:

            yeah whatever, impress me

From Adam:

            Saturday? Same time?

From Ronan:

            let's make it earlier, say 6?

From Adam:

            Great :)

 

And just like that he had to deal with the reality of exactly how deep he was in this mess. He’d just agreed to wait around after a scene so Adam could cuddle him and feed him snacks or whatever people did for aftercare. It was stupid and required a whole different level of vulnerability that Ronan wasn’t at all comfortable with. And yet, here he was. God he was an idiot.


	5. it's gonna hurt more than we had planned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of consent play, if you’re at all worried message me, I want to be as accommodating as possible.

Ronan wasn’t nervous. That would have been stupid for several reasons. For one thing, he was used to going into scenes blind. In fact, if he knew what was going to happen that took away half the fun because the tingle of excitement could, on a dime, turn into boredom. And thus, secondly, if he wasn’t nervous about the scene that left the possibility that he was _nervous_ about _aftercare_ which was just too stupid a notion to even entertain.

So it was a complete coincidence that 3am the morning of their third scene, Ronan was still awake and was actually making more use out of his basement gym equipment than he had in months. It was not in any way an effort to exhaust himself out of worrying, because as previously established he was not worried about anything. Except now, after almost two hours on the elliptical, he was a little worried about being able to walk back up the stairs to his room. Or walking anywhere ever again.

Around 5am he made the mistake of lying face first on a weight lifting bench and closing his eyes for the briefest moment.

He was woken around 1pm by a powerful stench that he quickly realized was coming from himself and his long-dried sweat.

“Ugh, gross,” he said to the exercise room, which came with its own not insignificant smell.

He dragged himself up the first flight of stairs, and then sincerely thought about crawling up the second, but his pride got the better of him. So, still mostly upright, he made it to the guest bathroom (because it was closer by about three steps) and barely waited for the water to get past ‘glacial runoff’ before stripping and standing under the spray. The freezing water slowly turned lukewarm and then began to get hot as he scrubbed at every conceivable part of his body. Then, with the insight of one cursed with an exercise hangover, he put the stopper in the tub and sat down, letting the hot water fall down and eventually cover him.

When he was fully covered up to the neck he turned off the water and took the time to appreciate how truly and completely _stupid_ he was. By this point he trus- well, he didn’t think it likely that Adam would suddenly take advantage of any conceivable weakness. But damn, if Ronan had wanted to give him a chance he couldn’t have thought of a better way to do it. Normally if push came to shove Ronan knew how to handle himself in a fight, if it came to that, but right now the slightest movement made his muscles scream and he really wasn’t going to be winning any wrestling contests.

As the water began to loosen the aches and pains in his muscles Ronan thought ever so briefly about calling off the scene. But what would he say, ‘I’m in pain so I don’t want come over anymore so you could make me feel pain’? Not likely. (Although some small part of him thought that Adam might even accept that most ridiculous of excuses.)

No, he would take a handful of anti-inflammatories now and then a couple more right before he headed over to Adam’s and then he’d be fine. Simple as that. Problem solved. He allowed himself to relax back into the warm water.

After the bath and the meds he felt better, enough to do the basics of feeding himself and Chainsaw before lying, physically exhausted but mentally wide awake, on the couch for hours watching the cold sunlight slowly march across the walls. Then he ate a bit more, because nothing took it out of you like a scene and he didn’t want to come home shaking like the last dying leaf on an autumn tree. Not again, at least.

Finally, it was time to leave. He had thought briefly about taking the subway but he really wasn’t up for walking anywhere that included stairs, so he got a cab over to Adam’s place, getting there right around 6:00.

Adam answered the door in slacks and a faded Blink-182 t-shirt.

“Have you heard their new album?” Ronan asked, not really thinking about it.

“What?” Adam looked completely thrown off. Ronan gestured at his shirt as he closed the door behind him.

“A friend of mine loves them, it’s all they’ve been listening to for the past four months.”

“Yeah, I like it. Especially the album only tracks.”

Ronan laughed, because Noah had told him about the 16 second track the lyrics of which were, in their entirety, “I wanna see some naked dudes, that’s why I built this pool” that the band had included on the album.

“Yeah, I’m a fan of those ones too.”

Adam looked relaxed, distinctly comfortable in his skin in a way Ronan hadn’t seen or at least hadn’t appreciated before.

As they walked back to the bedroom he smiled over his shoulder at Ronan.

“How was your week?” Adam asked. It was so casual it somehow looped back around to awkward. The way Ronan imagined it would feel to make small talk in an elevator with a coworker you had a crush on. Which was a stupid as fuck comparison but there you are.

“Fine,” Ronan said. It came out standoffish and Ronan wished he could reel it back in, but Adam was already sitting on the bed and looking at Ronan in the bedroom doorway.

“You can still back out,” Adam said, “you can back out at any time.”

“Yeah,” Ronan said, and a few weeks ago he would have thought this was a warning, was Adam’s way of saying ‘this is gonna be a bad one, don’t complain to me if you don’t like what you get’. But he reminded himself that the contentious issue here was actually: would he let Adam cuddle him after a scene. That made the disclaimer somewhat silly rather than ominous.

“Okay,” Adam said, unflappable as always. “What’s your safeword?”

“Glendower.”

Adam closed his eyes and Ronan wondered what this was like for him. Having to be in control of the whole scene, planning and execution and now aftermath. It seemed like a lot of work. Ronan didn’t really see the appeal.

Then Adam opened his eyes and a frisson of excitement shot up Ronan’s spine.

“Close the door?” It sounded like a question but Ronan knew an order when he heard one.

Ronan closed the door.

“Strip to your boxers.” Ronan gave a half-hearted glare but honestly it was a relief. There were certain conversations that would have to happen if he got completely naked, and he wasn’t ready for them yet.

“Now…” Adam moved so he was sitting at the head of the bed. “I want you lying down, ass up, over my lap,” Adam said.

Even as Ronan moved to obey he wanted to laugh a little bit.

“Look,” he said, “not to burst your bubble or anything but if you’re planning on doing that soft, bare-handed bullshit your hand is gonna start smarting long before my ass really starts to hurt.”

Ronan knew some people who got off on the spanking itself, on the idea of punishment. That wasn’t really the appeal to Ronan. He wanted to get something painful, aching, _real_ out of a scene.

“Thanks for the concern,” Adam said with a little sideways smile that somehow reassured Ronan that Adam knew him well enough by now to give him what he wanted.

Ronan got into position even as his muscles protested. ‘Shut the fuck up,’ he wanted to tell them, ‘just let me fucking enjoy this’. In the end he was supporting himself on his elbows and knees, legs slightly spread and head resting on his forearms. He thought he could probably hold this position even while deep in subspace.

After some rustling Adam’s hand settled comfortingly at the small of Ronan’s back and then the unmistakable feeling of a paddle came down on his ass.

“Well, that’s slightly better than your hand,” Ronan acknowledged. The next hit was a little harder, which was good because he didn’t want those love taps, although it still wasn’t as hard as he would like.

But Adam knew, more or less, what he was doing. He kept the hits steady as a metronome as they slowly got heavier. With Ronan’s boxers still on there wasn’t much of a surface level sting the way he usually expected with a paddle, but the deeper pain started to spread outward.

His ass burned and he couldn’t be silent anymore, little breathy sounds started coming out of his mouth. Ronan could feel his body relaxing into the burn, and the insides of his eyelids seemed to pulse in time with Adam’s hits.

Some hits went down a little further, striking the bare backs of his thighs and he had forgotten what a good feeling that was, little flashes of warmth turning into a pleasant ache.

The hits got harder and Ronan could feel himself getting wet until he was rocking his hips slightly, wordlessly asking for more.

Then Adam stopped.

“What the fuck,” Ronan said, “that better fucking not be it.”

“Do you want me to tell you what’s next?” Adam said, the little shit, “I got the impression you wanted to be surprised?”

Ronan couldn’t help but laugh at Adam’s dry inquiry. It came out sounding love struck and stupid but Ronan was too gone to care right now.

“Fine, hotshot,” he said, “surprise me.”

There was a buzzing and it took a moment too long for him to realize it wasn’t just normal subspace white noise in his ears. By the time he figured it out, Adam was slipping his hand between Ronan’s thighs. Ronan spread his legs to accommodate him.

The vibrator slid easily over his entrance and he clenched down on nothing before Adam pressed the little toy to his outer lips. Even with his boxers still on the vibrations shook him all the way through.

Adam’s right hand slipped down from its position at the small of Ronan’s back and after a second his fingernails bit into Ronan’s sore ass just as he pressed the vibe to his clit. Ronan groaned, a deep guttural sound as he clenched his fists against the flood of sensation.

But Adam had some experience with people’s clits because he backed off the next moment and made light circles, just barely touching so Ronan wanted more.

He kept going like that, pinching and scratching at Ronan’s back and ass even as he teased Ronan’s clit. It was the perfect combination of pleasure and pain and Ronan was sweating with the intensity.

He opened his eyes and they were foggy and refused to focus for long moments. But he persisted, fighting his fluttering eyelids to look at the sight in front of him, needing something to ground him while his body wound tighter and tighter. Finally, his vision resolved into the cascade of green growing things, broken by heat lamps and the occasional variegated leaves. And there was something about that, about knowing he was here in Adam’s home, in his bed, in this safe haven he had made for himself; something about the fact that Ronan was allowed here, encouraged to lose himself here, made Ronan’s eyes water and his pleasure soar until he was coming, shaking, groaning and trying not to bite his own fucking tongue.

Adam seemed to have an almost uncanny feeling for Ronan’s limits, so he pulled back before the pleasure passed into overstimulation. Not that that was, necessarily, a bad thing.

Ronan got halfway through saying ‘That all you got?’ before he was cut off by a nice hard hit from the paddle. “Fuck!” he yelped, breathless and heady, before laughing. “You motherfucker,” he added for good measure, as another smack came down on Ronan’s ass.

“I’ll take that,” a pause for a hit, “as the compliment,” off beat but satisfying, “I’m fairly certain,” another smack, “it’s intended to be,” Adam said. And Ronan was still looking at the greenery in front of him and he wanted to laugh but also his heart felt like it was going to burst.

Adam adjusted his position and, _oh good_. Adam was hard under him.

“Mmm,” Ronan murmured, rubbing down against Adam’s clothed cock, “good to know everyone’s paying attention.”

Adam continued to rain down hits and it was perfect, the buzz of orgasm fading even as the high of subspace flowed in waves over him. But just barely keeping it at bay was the desire to get Adam off too. He hadn’t even noticed during their last scene, he wanted to be more proactive this time.

So he thrust down to meet Adam’s cock and give it some – much appreciated, based on Adam’s little moans – stimulation.

Finally, the hits trailed off and Adam came with an unselfconscious whine that Ronan loved.

“Fuck,” he said, after, voice shaky and tension unwound from his body, “you’re amazing.”

It was strange how free Adam was with his praise, how he complimented Ronan so easily on what felt like _everything_. Ronan didn’t like the way it made his face heat and his gut clench with the unnamed desire for _more, yes, say it again_.

“Thanks for noticing,” Ronan quipped, but his voice was too tense and it fell flat.

“I’m going to try to get you off again, think you can handle that?” Adam asked, soothing a palm over Ronan’s shoulder blades. And Ronan generally didn’t bother trying to get off more than once but he knew that he could if he concentrated so he just said:

“Fuckin’ try me.”

This time Ronan closed his eyes as the vibrator ghosted over his clit. He let himself sink entirely into the sensation, into the pain that now throbbed steadily from his ass and thighs, and the pleasant overwhelming feeling of the vibrator on him. He wasn’t sure how long it took, he was just aware of slowly spiraling upwards, body tightening even as his mind grew fuzzy.

Finally, he came again with a little cry he couldn’t help but make.

“Fuck, Ronan you’re doing so good. You’re being perfect for me.” Ronan wanted to squirm with how good that felt, but moving was too much work. Adam continued, “I’m going to try something now okay? And if it’s too much you can always safeword.”

The words came to him over a mountain range, peaks of pleasure and pain flattening into a wide plain of mist and fog.

“Stop talking about doing it and fucking do it then,” he said, voice travelling all the way back to Adam.

He and Adam both just breathed for a moment. Then a _whoosh_ of sound, a loud _crack_ and pain exploded in a line across his ass.

It was a rush of fire through the skin and down all the way to the bone and Ronan made some kind of sound but he couldn’t hear himself over the rushing in his ears.

But through the river of blood pumping in his veins, he heard Adam’s voice.

“One,” he said, and then, “Can you keep count for me, Ronan?”

When Adam said his name it sounded _right_ , like there was no one else who could make it more true just by saying the word.

“One,” Ronan said, not really thinking about it.

“Good boy.” A hot rush of pleasure, Ronan couldn’t tell if it was in his head or in his body. “You’re being so good.”

Two more cracks; pain, just as good as the pleasure, slightly different.

“Two. Three,” Ronan counted automatically.

“So good,” Adam said. He was talking about Ronan. He was calling Ronan good.

Another hit with what, Ronan realized fuzzily, must be a cane.

“Four.” It was so good. It felt so good even though it hurt so much.

Then the hardest yet and for just a second Ronan shook.

“Five,” he said quickly, but something was wrong, his body hurt all over, not just in the good places. He was holding himself up and it was hard and his muscles screamed and he couldn’t think straight, his thoughts were sluggish, _was he high_? He opened his eyes and they focused on green spilling out of blue pots.

“-you can do this. I believe in you,” Adam was saying and just a minute ago he’d said Ronan was good for taking this, would he still be good now that he’d snapped out of it? Now that everything hurt and he couldn’t breathe and his heart beat too quickly in his chest.

Adam didn’t say anything else for a long moment even as his hand smoothed little circles on Ronan’s back.

“Ronan?” It was a question.

“Yeah?” It came out small and desperate.

“Can you take another?”

“Of course,” he said, because he _could_ , he’d had worse, this wasn’t that bad, he could take another if Adam would just call him good again.

“Do you want to stop?” Adam asked and his voice was so forgiving, so gentle and accepting and he was so honest. Ronan didn’t know how to lie, how to tell a half-truth, not right then, not staring ahead at the green leaves and hearing Adam’s soft voice.

“Yes,” he said finally. And then realized what he said and tensed, because that had _not_ been his safeword.

“Okay,” Adam said. He didn’t sound mad. He touched Ronan’s shoulder gently, turning him over while his other hand fell on Ronan’s hip. “We’re done.”

“What?” Fuck, just for being honest when he said he wanted to stop? Just because he didn’t want to lie, they were going to end the scene early?

He let himself be moved, went easily even though in that moment he hated every inch of Adam’s gentleness. But when Adam stood up and moved away Ronan hated that even more.

“Where are you going?” Ronan heard himself ask.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He didn’t even have the decency to sound anything but patient. “I’m just grabbing a blanket.”

There was movement and sounds but all Ronan was aware of was that he was all askew and there was no place for Adam to sit and that maybe now, even though it had ended poorly, maybe now was the time Adam would want to cuddle and Ronan didn’t know how he felt about that.

A blanket covered him but the bed didn’t dip for several more moments and when it did Ronan made note of all the places their bodies didn’t touch. Which was, for the record, all of them. He didn’t know why he cared.

“So,” he asked, when Adam was settled, because _communication was key_ or what-the-fuck-ever, “what did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, you were great.”

Ronan opened his eyes to glare even though it seemed dangerous somehow. “Yeah. Right. That’s why we stopped,” he said, because he wouldn’t let Adam just lie to his face like that.

“We stopped because you wanted to stop. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Since when is ‘yes I want to stop’ my safeword?” he said, arguing for the sake of it now, arguing because he didn’t know how to accept that Adam seemed to just _know_ him, without even trying, and then seemed to use that knowledge for good. It was infuriating.

“We’ve never discussed consent play; I didn’t want to take that risk. You said you wanted to stop, I stopped.”

“I could have taken more,” Ronan pointed out, only slightly aggressively.

“It’s not about what you _can_ do; it’s about what you _want_ to do. About what we both want to do. And I don’t want to hurt you when you’re not into it anymore.”

And _fuck_ , that made sense. And Adam’s face was calm and beautiful like a Renaissance painting. Ronan couldn’t look at him anymore, at his forgiving, understanding, fucking gorgeous face. Ronan looked over Adam’s shoulder instead.

“But I was doing so well,” he said, remembering how nice Adam’s praise had felt in the moment.

“You _did_ do well,” Adam said, “you were amazing, I couldn’t have asked for anything else.”

And _shit_ , even now, even not in the moment it still felt really nice. Ronan met Adam’s eyes, looking for the lie.

“You were perfect, for all of it,” Adam said and there wasn’t anything but sincerity in his face and his voice and suddenly it was too fucking much.

Ronan felt something break off inside him, like an old burned tree limb finally falling from the trunk. And he was _crying_ , covering his face with his hands, god what the fuck was this shit.

“Ronan,” Adam said, careful and gentle and all those adjectives that Ronan didn’t want right now because he was _fucking crying_ and he needed it to stop, right now, immediately.

“Shut the hell up,” Ronan said.

“Can I touch you?”

Ronan almost snorted. But- “Sure, this can’t get any more embarrassing.”

Adam scooted closer and put one hand under Ronan’s head and the other round his shoulders, comfortingly close but not confining. He chanced a look at Adam’s face.

“This is stupid,” Ronan said, because sometimes acknowledging the elephant in the room made it better.

“It’s not.”

“Yeah,” Ronan insisted, “it fucking is.” He didn’t say ‘because emotions are always stupid’ even though it was true; he didn’t think Adam would like that fact. Instead he said, “It was a good scene, I got off _twice_. Whatever, it ended badly there’s no reason to fucking cry about it.”

“You’ve never gotten subdrop before?” Adam asked.

Ronan narrowed his eyes, assessing Adam and his theory all at once.

With- with _him_ , time had passed in a constant vacillation between drugged up euphoria every time he’d smiled that razor sharp smile, and earth-shattering depression when he’d said something faux off-hand and cruel. It had been impossible to pinpoint what was subdrop and what was him fucking with Ronan’s head, or some combination of the two.

But he knew the theory, had experienced it a few times before that whole mess. Good scenes that nonetheless made him feel like crap afterward. He had always attributed it to other things, to incompatibility with his dom, or normal depressive tendencies. But this seemed more extreme than that and honestly Ronan would love to have an explanation here other than ‘I’m a fucking weakling who can’t roll with the fucking metaphorical punches’.

“You think that’s what this is?” he asked.

“It’s very possible. Or hell, maybe you just had a crappy week, or you didn’t get enough sleep last night,” or, Ronan’s brain produced, you exhausted yourself working out in the middle of the night,  “ there are a million things it could be and there’s nothing wrong with any of them.”

It was so sickeningly saccharine, so seemingly genuine in its over the top considerateness.

Ronan couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

 “Why do you do that?” Ronan asked, without really thinking it through, just vaguely annoyed and wanted to needle at the source.

“Do what?”

“Pretend to care.”

Adam didn’t physically reel back, but his mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide and hurt. Ronan refused to let himself feel bad.

“What? Ronan, I do care. Of course I care,” Adam said, so fucking sincere it drove Ronan up the wall.

“Why?” he asked, only somewhat belligerent, “It’s not like we’re dating.” And shit that was _not_ what he meant to say.

“Do you want to be?” Adam said.

And that was when Ronan’s brain shorted out.

* * *

 

It had fallen out of Adam’s mouth before he could think about it. Ronan blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that, you’re in a complicated place right now, I don’t want to pressure you.”

Ronan rolled his eyes again, but his brow was furrowed.

“I’m not some fucking china doll. I’m fine,” Ronan said, hands finally falling away from his face, but not otherwise moving away from Adam’s touch. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you want to be dating me? You don’t even know me.” Ronan said sharply.

Now it was Adam’s turn to be confused.

“I mean, that’s usually what dating’s _for_. And I know enough to think I’d like to know more.”

Ronan studied Adam’s face for a long moment.

“Shit. You’re serious.” It was more than half question.

“Well, yeah.” Almost apologetic, because Ronan sounded so completely bowled over. ”But like I said, you don’t have to decide now. You don’t even have to think about it right now.”

“Shit,” Ronan said again, before rolling onto his back. He immediately winced.

“Fuck, I’m an idiot. I made such a big deal about aftercare and then barely did anything.”

“That wasn’t aftercare?” Ronan asked, which was such a fucked up question Adam didn’t deign to answer it.

“Are you thirsty?”

Ronan thought about it for a moment.

“Yeah.”

“Hungry?”

“A little.”

“Okay, I’m just gonna run to the kitchen and grab some stuff. Any special requests?”

Ronan looked unguarded and wary simultaneously.

“Something sweet?” he asked.

“You got it.”

* * *

 

Adam smiled kindly before exiting the room. It was so genuine. Everything about this situation seemed so _genuine_ , like Adam always was. Ronan didn’t know how to deal with sincerity. It toppled his confused anger and charged the fallen city to pull survivors from the rubble.

While Adam was gone, Ronan thought about what he’d said.

Fuck. Ronan was so fucked. Because the thing was he had been thinking about it ever since he’d told Gansey he’d picked somebody up the other day. He’d been wearing Adam’s sweater almost every day, even though it no longer even smelled like him. He’d thought about wearing it over tonight and saying something cheesy about being ‘boyfriend material’ just to test the waters. But he’d forgotten the sweater. And yet, here was Adam, just talking outright about it, like he did everything else.

When Adam came back into the room he was carrying a plate with some toast (with jam, although if Ronan was lucky it was marmalade) balanced on top of two huge glasses of water. He opened his mouth and Ronan didn’t know what he was going to say, but somehow he did know. And he couldn’t let Adam take it back. Not yet. So Ronan blurted out his thought.

“Hypothetically. What would dating entail?” he asked and immediately realized how stupid that sounded.

“Excuse me?” Adam said, putting his items down on the desk and there was almost a hint of an accent in Adam’s voice that Ronan wanted to chase.

“Like,” Ronan pushed through, “besides what we’re already doing, the sex and the scenes, what else?”

Maybe Adam was one of those 24/7 master/slave types.

Maybe he’d admit to it if he was.

“Well, going out to dinner when it’s not simultaneously a meeting. Hanging out with mutual friends like Gansey, I’d assume. Sex without the scene beforehand, if that was your kind of thing.” He said it so carefully Ronan wanted to scream; he didn’t want the kid gloves. He sat up, suppressing a wince, and waving off Adam’s help.

He dropped his head forward so he could grip the hair at the nape of his neck with his fingertips and _pull_ while he muttered a half-hearted stream of curses. It was a bad habit of his, and a sure sign that he needed a haircut. When he lifted his head again, he knew what he was going to say.

“I’m a mess,” were the words, but ‘yes, please, I want this too much’ was the meaning.

“We don’t have to change anything if you don’t want to.”

Adam handed over one of the glasses and Ronan basically chugged it, an excuse not to answer for a moment.

“No. No.” It was so hard to say. So hard to make the words come out. “I want to. That’s the thing. I want to. But I’m… a mess.”

“No offense, but I think everyone is, to a greater or lesser degree.”

Ronan almost laughed, because here was Adam trying to comfort him and it was just proving his point: Adam, if he was the person he seemed to be, didn’t deserve to put up with Ronan’s shit.

“I’m a greater degree.”

Adam handed over the toast and Ronan ate mechanically, watching Adam watching him. He got through about half of one slice of bread before Adam seemed to find his words.

“Okay, so what’s the worst case scenario?”

“What?” Ronan asked, around a mouthful. Adam really did sound like Calla, it was almost creepy.

“The worst case scenario is that we try it and it doesn’t work out, right? Either it turns out I can’t handle your issues, or you can’t handle mine, or both, whatever. It doesn’t work. I’d still be there to give you legal advice and we could be friendly if you wanted. You said yourself you could probably find another dom in a heartbeat. What would you be losing by giving it a shot? If you want to, I mean.”

Adam made it all sound so reasonable, maybe it just ‘wouldn’t work out’ as though that wasn’t a synonym for blood and drugs and crawling back from the brink of hard-edged isolation. Ronan had to huff out a little laugh.

“You’re really good at this _communication_ thing.” Ronan said, meaning it.

“Thank-”

“Okay.” Ronan blurted out, because the little half-smile on Adam’s face had pushed him over the brink into ‘I couldn’t stand myself if I passed this up’ and he wanted to get the decision out in the open before he changed his mind.

“You don’t have to decide now.”

“Yeah, I know that. But I just did so like, let’s do it.”

“Okay,” Adam said, and there was that hint of an accent again as he said, “if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Ronan said as he continued to eat.

When he was done Adam handed over the other glass of water and Ronan drank that too.

“Okay,” Ronan said finally, “that was aftercare right? Like the watching me eat and getting me water and talking about feelings?”

Adam was sitting at the foot of the bed, cross legged and he smiled.

“Yeah, that was more or less what I had in mind. Although I have some bruise cream if you want it.”

“No,” Ronan said quickly, “I’m good. I should head out.”

“Okay.”

Ronan got dressed while Adam cleaned himself off with a washcloth from the en suite and changed his pants.

“So,” he said awkwardly as Adam walked him to the door. “I’ll see you.”

“Yeah,” Adam smiled, blushed, then seemed to reel himself in. “You know, just like the scene, you can change your mind anytime you want out. No safeword required.”

Ye-” what a novel thought, “yeah. I know.”

Ronan had barely gotten in the elevator when his phone started ringing. He looked at it confusedly for a second, then started laughing as he picked up.

“What, you loser?”

“I see our relationship is off to a good start.” Adam said, but Ronan could hear the smile.

“I literally just saw you and now you’re calling me, that makes you a loser; I’m just stating facts.”

“I realized I didn’t ask you what you thought. Of the aftercare.” And then, sheepishly, “you distracted me.”

Ronan grinned as he hailed a cab and gave the driver his address.

“It was… not bad. It was a bit of a special circumstance though. Just in case you thought I always acted like that, after.”

“You mean getting emotional? Yeah I could pretty much tell that was not par for the course.”

“Yeah, well- yeah. I think- that is- if it’s a deal-breaker I think I could handle doing that every time. I think I would actually, you know, kind of like it. Eventually.”

There was a long pause, where Ronan tried to hear Adam’s breathing. Then, “You really are better over text.” Adam said in such a sweetly careful tone of voice.

Ronan started to laugh but worried that any second it would turn hysterical.

“Shut the fuck up,” he forced out, then hung up and caught his breath as he typed out a text.

 

From Ronan:

            we should do a Proper Date or something like that

From Adam:

            You just hung up on me?

 

It was so bizarre. Ronan was so used to Gansey and Noah, who knew every quirk and character flaw intimately.

 

From Ronan:

            oh yeah. i do that.

From Adam:

            Okay…

From Ronan:

            i’m not gonna apologize, this is just me. you get used to it

 

He wasn’t going to start this relationship off by apologizing, he wasn’t that stupid.

 

From Adam:

            Okay.

            And yes.

From Ronan:

            ??

From Adam:

            To the Proper Date.

 

Ronan scrubbed his hands over his face to wipe away the shaky smile he found there. God, what the fuck was he doing?


	6. (so fucked up)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ableist language, specifically referring to someone as a p*ychopath; mentions of past noah/whelk, discussion of: abuse (ronan/kavinsky), non consensual drug use and tattooing, and kidnapping. Sorry this gets pretty dark. But... happy holidays???

Adrenaline was a wonderful thing. But by the time the cab arrived back at home it had sapped away, and Ronan’s hands had started shaking, although not as badly as last time. It took him three attempts to open the door and two more attempts to text Noah, even with the help of autocorrect.

 

From Ronan:

            so i’m dating someone

 

His phone rang two minutes later. Ronan answered on the fourth ring but didn’t say anything. Noah didn’t either. There was just a pattern of crackles and whooshing that signaled Noah was breathing directly into their end of the connection.

Ronan had done this before. It had happened back when Ronan wasn’t otherwise responding to anything but texts. Ignoring calls, and emails, and knocking at the door. He had called Noah in the middle of the night after a nightmare, heart pounding and lungs protesting, mind clutched tightly in the claws of a panic attack. At first Noah had freaked, talked his ear off, threatened to come over and break down the door, the whole nine. That hadn’t been very helpful, but their voice had been. For a while there it was so common that Noah had learned to answer their phone half asleep and just let their sleep murmurings or slow steady breaths soothe Ronan until he could silently hang up on them.

(He still had a picture saved on his phone that Noah had texted him the next morning. Epic bedhead and the mark of a rectangle on one side of their face from where their phone had been pressed all night.)

But maybe Noah hadn’t been asleep all of those times, because they seemed to have a sense for how long to wait and just breathe before trying to speak.

“So.” Voice soft, but tone light. “Kinky lawyer, huh?”

“He’s got a name.”

“Yeah which I guess I should use, now that you’re dating and everything.” Ronan’s heart beat erratically.

“It’s Adam.”

“Full disclosure, I kind of already knew that.”

“Noah ‘No-no’ Czerny, have you been snooping?” Ronan said, comforted by the completely unsurprising nature of that revelation. Noah was the worst gossip he knew.

“I asked Gansey.”

“Shit,” Ronan said, because that had been a bombshell he hadn’t wanted dropped just yet.

“I didn’t tell him what for,” they said quickly, “you just texted me last week and said you’d met Gansey’s lawyer and he was the same dude you left the party with. So I asked Gansey, casual as you please, what his lawyer’s name was.”

“Adam.”

“Adam Parrish. You and your religious themes.”

Ronan had to snort a laugh at that.

“You have no idea.”

He could practically hear Noah raise their eyebrows over the phone.

“And for once, I’m going to be happy in my ignorance.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure you’ll stick to your guns _this one time_.”

“How are you doing?”

“Fine.” Ronan lied on instinct. Then he realized the utter pointlessness of putting up a false front for Noah of all people. “Kinda freaked.”

“What kind of freaked?”

“I don’t know. What are the options?”

“There’s ‘shit, what did I get myself into?’ There’s ‘I’ve made a terrible decision but I don’t know how to get out of it’. There’s ‘something good is happening and I don’t know how to deal with it’. And those are just off the top of my head.”

“The first one and the last one. Although my brain is doing a good job of convincing me it’s the middle one.”

“Do you want to date this guy?”

It wasn’t a hard question to answer. Ronan had probably known it since their second scene, since he saw Adam’s bedroom. And their meeting last week where Ronan got to see Adam defy all odds to act like a lawyer _and_ a decent human being had only helped. Still it was hard to actually get the word out, all three letters of it.

“I barely even know him,” Ronan said instead.

“Mmhm. And what do you think you need to know about him that you don’t know now?”

“If he’s secretly an abusive psychopath?”

“Yeah because I hear that’s usually a third date conversation.”

“Fuck off.” It was too vehement, not joking at all. And Noah had learned not to let that shit slide.

“Hey, I’m not actually your therapist, so I don’t have to put up with you being a jerk when I’m trying to help.”

Ronan dug his fingers into the side of his head where he held his phone.

“Sorry. Just, don’t joke. Not about this.”

“Okay.” Noah said, because they didn’t take shit, but they were still a big softie, “I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to sound flippant. But honestly, if he’s an asshole he’s probably gonna keep it under pretty tight wraps. And-”

“And I’m a shit judge of character anyway.”

“That’s not was I was going to say.”

“But it’s true.”

“Well, my first boyfriend robbed me and left me for dead, so join the club.”

Noah didn’t talk very much about Barrington Whelk. They said it was a long time ago and they were over it. But both friends were aware that the night Noah told Ronan about their first, disastrous, relationship was a turning point for Ronan. It was why Ronan came to Noah with the difficult things, more so than Gansey usually, because there was a feeling that Noah would understand. And usually they did.

“So,” Ronan said, “what do I do? Just go along pretending I can trust myself even though my own shitty judgment got me into this mess?”

“Well… that’s kind of the only thing you _can_ do, basically. You remember what happened, and you don’t make quite the same mistakes this time around. And you remember, even if it’s a complete fucking disaster, that you survived catastrophe before.”

“I’m the spider.” Ronan said.

“Exactly. And all you’re doing is inviting another spider onto your web. Not a bigger or scarier spider, just another guy like you.”

“Yeah, okay.” Ronan felt comforted. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Ronan imagined the accompanying gracious nod and it made him smile as he hung up.

His hands were no longer shaking when he put down the phone.

He went up on the roof and looked out across the city while drinking a two-liter bottle of orange soda and pretending that it was just an extremely watered down mixed drink.

 

From Ronan:

            are you a ‘dinner at a fancy restaurant’ guy? or a ‘walk around central park’ guy? or a ‘sleigh ride through the snow’ kind of guy?

From Adam:

            I’m pretty sure Blue would kill me if I got on a sleigh, she says they’re cruel for the horses. And honestly, I’m more of a ‘make dinner at home and then watch reruns until we fall asleep’ kind of person. Is that bad?

From Ronan:

            nah, sounds pretty sweet actually.

 

Then, because he hadn’t done enough scary shit today.

 

From Ronan:

            you should come over to my place

From Adam:

            Sure :) I could do… Thursday? 6:30?

From Ronan:

            don't let me pull you away from work early

From Adam:

            Actually you’d be saving me from drinks with my fellow uptight lawyer types.

From Ronan:

            well in that case.

            my address: 42 stanford ave, brooklyn 11209

From Adam:

            Great, should I bring anything?

From Ronan:

            condoms?

From Adam:

            Doesn’t get classier than that ;)

            Will do

From Ronan:

            what can I say, i’m a classy dude.

 

He managed to get to sleep after that, despite the caffeine.

Monday was mostly sleep and letting his body recover.

Tuesday he posted another snippet from his book and had some interviews his agent had set up, after which he texted on and off for the rest of the day.

Wednesday was busy. He had an appointment with Calla in the morning and then in the afternoon had to go into his publisher’s offices to approve the cover art and pick up the latest round of copy from his copy editor. On the way home he stopped to get ingredients for Matthew’s favorite pesto recipe that Ronan had been making, or helping to make, every holiday season since he was a child. He could make it perfectly in his sleep which hopefully would mean he wouldn’t ruin it if he got distracted.

He spent Thursday morning proofing a chapter of the latest book Gansey was working on. Around 3pm he started dinner prep: rinsing and separating the basil leaves from the stalks.

Growing up in the Lynch house Aurora had taught him the only proper amount of food to make at a time was _a shitton_. So he always bought several huge bags of basil from the commercial supplier and spent hours getting his hands pruney preparing them for the food processor. After all, he could always freeze it and if Matthew had the choice he wouldn’t eat anything else when he was at home.

Around 6:25 he got a call. It was Adam.

“I’m so sorry,” was the first thing Ronan heard and his jaw clenched.

* * *

“I’m so sorry.” Adam said, over the chaotic rumble of the subway. “I should have been smarter than trying to go through fucking Grand Central station, at the height of rush-hour.”

“You’re still in Grand Central?” There was something dull in Ronan’s voice, like he was distracted.

“No, no. But I only just hit Brooklyn and it’ll probably be another 15 minutes before I make it to your place.”

“Oh. That’s it.” Ronan sounded surprised, which didn’t really make sense.

“Yeah? I mean, I’m going to be late, so I figured I should call.”

“Yeah. Of course. How- how about I meet you at the Newkirk Ave station?”

“I don’t think I’ll get lost.” Adam pointed out, bemused but smiling.

“Yeah, unlike Gansey I’m actually fully confident that you know how a GPS works.”

Adam laughed.

“He’s not that hopeless, is he?” he said.

“No, it’s mostly for show. But you should quiz him on his video game knowledge sometime. Or really anything pop culture.”

“I willingly admit that I know very little about video games, so I’m not sure how well that pop quiz would go.”

Ronan hissed.

“God I’m surrounded by heathens.”

“If you want to talk video games you should meet my friend Henry, he’s a connoisseur. And if you want to actually _play_ video games you should hang out with Blue, I’m sure she’d love to kick your ass.”

“Challenge motherfucking accepted.” Ronan said, and Adam could practically see the shark-like smile on his face.

Then, over the line Adam heard the firm sound of a door closing.

“Are you really coming to meet me?” Adam asked, smiling and oddly charmed.

“Whatever Parrish, don’t swoon or anything.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Adam said, and with a thrill hung up.

He imagined he could hear Ronan’s bark of laugh. But instead he just got a text.

 

From Ronan:

            that's my signature fucking move you bastard. i'll sue. i've got that shit trademarked.

From Adam:

            Damn, my client is the IP holder of Asshole™ that’s truly remarkable.

From Ronan:

            [dirty joke about assholes here]

From Adam:

            That’s rather lackluster. You couldn’t even be bothered to come up with the joke.

From Ronan:

            they all seemed too crass.

From Adam:

            Wonders never cease.

From Ronan:

            yeah yeah, whatever. punk.

* * *

Adam, when he came out of the station, looked like he was stepping out of a limousine, somehow all crisp suit lines and softly lidded eyes, like a model out of a fashion magazine, even after traversing the subway during rush hour. Ronan didn’t know how on earth he did it.

His gaze swept the street and landed on Ronan. Ronan’s heart stuttered but his face remained impassive. He was not a love struck teenager, thank you very much.

Adam walked over and immediately rested his hands on the opening of Ronan’s half-unzipped jacket.

“Undressing me already, Parrish?” Ronan said, not willing to admit that he’d strip half naked and walk home that way if Adam was really so inclined.

“What is it with you prep school kids and calling people by their last names?” Adam mused as he pulled Ronan’s zipper down a fraction of an inch and Ronan suddenly wondered if it really was going to be a cold walk back to The Brownstone. “May I?” he asked.

Shit, what had Adam been saying. Something about last names.

“It gets us hot, what can I say.” Ronan smiled crookedly to cover his nerves. “Sure.”

Only after Adam had unzipped his jacket and palmed the sweater underneath did Ronan understand his motives. He had almost forgotten he was wearing it. He had worn it a few times that first week because it smelled good and it was warm. Then he had just… kept on wearing it. Now he basically thought of it as anything else in his wardrobe.

“I notice you never made any effort to give this back to me,” Adam said, eyes crinkling.

“I forgot,” Ronan said, because it was easier than saying, ‘it feels like home now’.

“Are you sure you’re not holding it hostage?” Adam joked.

And it was stupid. So stupid. Adam was joking. Adam was talking about a fucking sweater, but all he heard was ‘hostage’ and the cops saying, _‘You were missing for two days.’_

He opened his eyes, not having been aware of shutting them. Carefully he pulled Adam’s hands away from him and zipped his jacket back up.

“Nah, just forgot.”

“Well, it looks good on you.” Adam said, backing off easily. Ronan tried to smile wryly at his own stupid issues but he wasn’t sure it worked. To cover for his awkwardness, he set off towards The Brownstone, slow enough for Adam to walk beside him, despite his shorter stride.

They walked in stilted silence. Then Adam asked, “What did I say wrong just now?”

Ronan looked over at him. He has a calm, concerned face, open to whatever Ronan wanted to say. Damn him and his communication skills.

“It’s not important.” Ronan said, shrugging.

“My guess is that it is.” Adam said, pushing so gently that Ronan couldn’t even be angry about it.

“Fine,” because, well, it _was_ important, “but I don’t want to talk about it now.”

“Okay,” Adam said, dropping it without any fuss to speak of.

“It’s not exactly first date conversation,” Ronan felt he had to explain.

“Okay. That’s fine.”

They walked the rest of the way in easy silence. Everything was so easy with Adam, it set Ronan on edge. How did they fit together as though they’d known each other for years, despite having only just met? It seemed too good to be true.

As he walked up to The Brownstone he wondered if his luck would continue. Letting someone into his home for the first time was one of the greatest vulnerabilities Ronan allowed. He still remembered the greedy look K had had in his eyes the first time he saw this place, desperate not for the physical place, but for what it represented to Ronan: safety, family, sense of self.

“You own this place?” Adam asked as they walked up the steps.

"Yeah, my dad bought it. Technically my brother lives here too but he's away at college so I basically live alone," Ronan said, as he got out his keys. Then, unlocking the door, he said, “This… is The Brownstone.”

* * *

“The Brownstone.” Adam clearly heard the capital letters. It deserved it. Walking up the steps, Adam couldn't have imagined anyone so much as touching this home without wanting to have it entirely as their own. It was quietly and intimately itself, fitting in perfectly to its surroundings and yet successfully unique, from the worn steps to the forest green door to the plant box outside one of the windows.

Adam burned like an ember in a dead fireplace, hot with jealousy that was merely a relic of something long gone. Because Adam was a success story, no one could argue that. He was a perfect rags-to-riches fairy tale. But what they don't tell you in most stories, is you never forget what the rags felt like. And it seemed suddenly and grossly clear that Ronan had never seen the dirty side of a rag in his life.

And yet, Adam reminded himself, Ronan had his rough edges, just as Adam did. And Adam was no longer the fierce, angry, endlessly stubborn young man who left his hometown to move to New York City and shape his own future. He was coming into this relationship on equal footing, not an ounce lesser than Ronan, regardless of his past.

He peered around down the hall and caught a look at the inside: cluttered with books and art and well-made, comfortable furniture that gave the sense that if you were given permission to sit you would never want to leave. Before Adam could take it all in, he was greeted by a mass of black feathers propelling themselves toward him.

“You-” he crouched down, “this is a chicken.” It came out like a question as Adam hesitantly patted the clucking bird.

“Yup. Her name’s Chainsaw.”

“You have a chicken named Chainsaw,” Adam said, still trying to process this information.

“Jesus, it’s not that weird.”

“It’s pretty fucking weird, Lynch.”

Ronan smiled and shrugged off his jacket, toed off his boots and pushed the sleeves of Adam’s sweater up to bear muscular forearms.

Adam had to swallow quickly at the picture he made.

Ronan walked past him, further into The Brownstone, with Chainsaw following closely behind him. Adam vaguely heard him say: “I’m not feeding you anymore, you bloody bastard.”

Adam took off his jacket, hung it on one of the hooks beside the door and took off his shoes, keeping his briefcase, before wandering into the main room. He quickly saw that he, and his crisp suit, did not belong here. There was a fireplace and a huge TV hanging over it. Everything was well-loved, buffeted by the years but not torn down by them. It was, overwhelmingly warm; it oozed fond memories and childhood laughter and Adam felt sick with envy for any person who got to step inside this place, however briefly. Except, of course, he was here, right now, and so he was both awed and envious of himself.

When Adam looked in the direction Ronan had disappeared, he was standing in the mouth of a spacious dining room watching Adam take in the living room. There was something wary in Ronan’s eyes that reminded Adam of himself. He was surprised to see that uncertainty from someone as sure of themselves as Ronan, but as quickly as he’d spotted it the guarded look was gone. Ronan turned and walked back through the dining room. Adam followed him curiously, into a charmingly rustic kitchen where Ronan was feeding Chainsaw a salad that wouldn’t have looked out of place at a restaurant with its perfectly halved cherry tomatoes and, was that garnish?

“Hey, is there somewhere I can change?” Adam asked, holding up his bag.

Ronan kept petting Chainsaw absently but looked up.

“Oh.”

“What did you think I was going to stay in my suit all evening?” Adam asked.

“I wouldn’t complain,” Ronan said, giving Adam a slow once-over.

Adam raised an eyebrow.

“Noted,” he said, “but I’m still going to vote for something more comfortable.”

“There’s a bathroom up the stairs on the right, second door.”

“Thanks,” Adam said, tracing his steps back to the hall and walking up the stairs to the second floor. The bathroom was similar to the kitchen: clean but worn around the edges, lived in and slightly dated in a charming way.

Adam quickly peeled off his suit, and hung it up in from the shower rod to collect later. He changed into his most comfortable jeans, which happened to be about 4 years old and ripped all to hell not to mention permanently covered in grease stains from his old mechanic’s job and paint from when he’d moved Blue into her current apartment. Next came his old high school track shirt and his Columbia sweatshirt, because after the sweater Ronan was currently wearing, it was the comfiest thing in Adam’s wardrobe. He had thought about dressing to impress, since this was technically their first date, but in the end had decided to start as he meant to go on. If he was being honest, he’d asked Blue and she’d said “if he couldn’t handle you at your old crappy clothes he didn’t deserve you in your $3,000 suits” which was more or less fair.

As he made his way back to the kitchen, he heard the upbeat tune of music played through a speaker set up on the table. The music was fast paced, made to dance to.

“What’s this?”                  

“Electro-swing,” Ronan said, not turning around.

“Wow, that’s completely not what I would have expected.”

“Well, shit if you want I can break out the shitty EDM of my youth, but Gansey and my friend Noah have dragged me kicking and screaming into some more adventurous musical tastes.” Ronan said, as Adam leaned against the counter next to him.

“No, no. I like it. It fits the place.” Adam gestured at the homey, old-fashioned kitchen, which seemed to match the catchy, 30s-inspired music.

Ronan turned to look at him. Then paused. Then looked again, up and down, slowly.

“Nevermind,” Ronan said, “I like this better.”

Adam fought back a surprised smile.

“What are we making?” he asked, looking at a double sink filled with green leaves and the counter covered in various other ingredients. “Is that an obscene amount of spinach you have there?”

“Please, use your nose.”

Adam sniffed obediently. It smelled like Blue’s house when Jimi was replanting herbs.

“Not spinach?” Adam hazarded.

“Basil,” Ronan said, looking mildly offended by Adam’s lack of herb knowledge, “we’re making pesto.”

“Oh. Great.” Adam smiled.

“It’s the only thing I could be sure I wouldn’t mess up, no matter how… distracting… you were.”

Adam grinned wider and stepped closer. Ronan obligingly turned so his back was pressed to the edge of the counter and Adam was chest-to-chest with him.

“Would you like me to distract you?” Adam tipped his head up ever so slightly so his lips brushed against Ronan’s as he spoke.

“I didn’t say that,” Ronan said with an arched eyebrow and a twitching corner of his mouth.

“Oh, well in that case.” Adam stepped back obligingly.

“You dick,” Ronan said, and before he had even finished the movement Ronan was pulling him back in by the hips and kissing him.

* * *

 This was their first kiss, Ronan realized only as their lips touched properly. As far as first kisses went… well you kind of couldn’t get better. It was gentle but intense, Adam matching his movements effortlessly. As Adam ran his hands over Ronan’s hair and then wrapped his arms around Ronan’s shoulders, Ronan murmured his approval. He just wanted to be _closer_ , he wanted this to go on forever, he wanted Adam so much it hurt. And it hurt because _Ronan_ _could_ _have him_ ; Ronan didn’t know how to deal with having exactly what he wanted and exactly what he knew he didn’t deserve.

He distracted himself by pulling Adam closer with hands on his ass. Adam shifted his stance slightly so one leg slid between Ronan’s parted ones. And then all thoughts of deserving or not, _forever, closer, more_ dissolved into _right now, right there, just like that_. There was only the utter perfect press of Adam’s thigh between his legs and Adam’s mouth against his and every single inch in between.

Time melted pleasantly as did his priorities regarding food or a bed or anything really besides kissing.

“O-okay, pause. Pause for a sec,” Adam said, panting and Ronan tried to suppress a smug smile.

Ronan looked at Adam’s eyes, saw that it was indeed a ‘pause’ and not a ‘stop’ so he didn’t take his hands off Adam’s ass.

“Dinner?” Adam said, “I’m guessing the basil won’t keep.”

He sounded bowled over and Ronan couldn’t suppress that grin anymore.

“I can buy more,” he said, because really he wanted to get back to kissing. But Adam’s eyes still said ‘pause’ so Ronan waited.

“Nah,” Adam said, smiling and feeling up Ronan’s biceps to lessen the sting of stepping away. “We’ve done the sex thing already. Our first date should have some actual first date appropriate activities.”

“’Kay,” Ronan accepted. He adjusted himself where he’d gotten his boxers wet with arousal and then turned to the matter at hand. “I’ve done the boring prep stuff already,” he explained.

“I could have helped,” Adam said, following suit to wash his hands after Ronan was done.

“It really is boring as shit, no reason to have us both do it.” Ronan didn’t say that it was something he and his mother had always done together, that standing over the sinks, flicking water at each other while their hands got pruney was something that had brought Ronan and his mother together back when Aurora had still thought she was passing her recipes on to a beautiful daughter. He wasn’t quite ready to share that with anyone else.

“Well,” Adam asked, “what’s next?”

“The loud part,” Ronan said with a shark-like grin.

He had already gotten the food processor out so it was just a matter of blending and seasoning to taste every single batch. He only realized about halfway through that loud blending was perhaps not the most romantic way to pass their first date, especially when it meant they couldn’t even talk without shouting. But Adam didn’t seem to mind. He went about getting acquainted with the kitchen, then cooked the pasta and set the table, all effortlessly fitting around Ronan’s own movements.

Finally he was done and the tupperwares were full, dishes put in the dish washer to deal with later. Adam was eyeing the stacked containers.

“So, I’m assuming you are planning to spring a dinner party for twelve on me any minute.”

“You mean you don’t want to eat this shit with a spoon until we’re both sick?”

“I’m not completely ruling out the idea, I just think this date thing might go better if it didn’t end in luridly green vomit on all sides.”

_Fuck_ , Ronan liked him and he was cute and funny and _he liked Ronan’s cooking_. Ronan was so fucked.

He couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s called a freezer. Most of these containers will live there for a while.”

They talked over dinner, casual stuff like what kind of shows they watched and music they listened to. It wasn’t as awkward as Ronan anticipated, especially since it had been so long since he’d last tried to just _chat_ with someone. Ronan wasn’t one for small talk, usually. But he thought for Adam he’d make an exception.

After dinner and dessert they made their way to the couch.

* * *

 The couch was deep enough that if Ronan sat with his legs spread Adam could sit comfortably between his knees, facing the television. There was something guarded in Ronan’s eyes, but he opened his arms, welcoming Adam to sit down, which he did.

Ronan didn’t seem to care very much about what they watched so Adam put on some mindless legal drama with hot actors that could occasionally make him laugh at the inaccuracies, but left most of his mind free to pay attention to the way Ronan was playing with his fingers.

Ronan traced the outline, held them up against his smaller, broader hands, tugged lightly at the skin of Adam’s knuckles; he seemed in every way fascinated by the altogether ordinary nature of Adam’s hands. When he finally seemed to tire of that, rather than directing his attention to the TV he started licking and nipping at Adam’s neck. There were few things in the world that got Adam hard as quickly as neck kisses so he was panting and adjusting himself in no time flat. Without even thinking about it he had twisted half around so Ronan could get better access.

“Shit, Ronan. You said you lived alone, right? No chance your brother’s suddenly gonna walk in?”

“Uh-uh,” Ronan murmured while his mouth was occupied with Adam’s pulse point.

“And not to be a stereotypical prick, but you’re sure you want to do this on our first date?”

This got Ronan to pull back.

“Look, I know you’re trying to be nice, asking me if I’m sure. But _don’t_. If I’m doing something, I’m sure, don’t second guess me.” Ronan said, voice low but intense.

“Oh,” Adam said, “okay. Sorry.” He wondered when else he might have unintentionally stepped on that livewire.

“’S fine.” Ronan said, lips already back on Adam’s skin.

* * *

 “Well, in that case.”

Adam turned and kneeled on the floor in front of Ronan, whose pulse thumped uncomfortably in his chest. It was going to happen now. Adam was going to take off his pants and his underwear and then there would be confusion or revulsion or best case scenario pity in his eyes and Ronan didn’t want that. But he knew it had to happen eventually, so he allowed Adam to maneuver him to the edge of the couch, to push up his shirt and sweater to lick at his stomach.

And Adam didn’t immediately start to pull off Ronan’s pants. Instead he took his time and the tension built and Ronan’s nerves stretched unpleasantly across his skin even as part of him shivered with the feeling of Adam touching him.

“Can you fu-fucking get on with it?” Ronan said, far too obvious in his desperation.

“Yeah,” Adam said, before pulling off Ronan’s jeans. And it was so awkwardly real then, not carefully orchestrated like their scenes, just two young men (barely more than boys really) fumbling with clothes and limbs and egos.

And it was perfect in that moment and Ronan didn’t want it to be ruined so he bent forward and kissed Adam again, just to prolong the moment. Ronan kissed Adam, greedy and deep but unhurried. It was a kiss tinged with desperation but refusing to be ruled by it.

When Adam pulled back Ronan quickly lost his sweater and shirt and he slumped back onto the couch, watching Adam though heavy eyes, feeling as ready as he ever would.

Adam gently bit a path from knee up to the edge of his boxers and Ronan’s breath caught despite himself.

“May I?” Adam asked, nuzzling at the cloth covering Ronan’s cunt.

“Yeah, go for it,” Ronan managed.

Adam licked at his entrance and Ronan unconsciously fisted a hand in Adam’s hair while grabbing at the couch with the other. It was warm and wet and yet safe. He didn’t have to worry about anything but Adam’s mouth on him, Adam’s clever tongue, Adam’s almost embarrassing enthusiasm.

He couldn’t come from this, he didn’t think, but for a long moment it really didn’t matter. It was just fun and easy and _hot_. The way sex was supposed to be, Ronan assumed.

And it soothed something in Ronan that had been on edge, cleared away some cobwebs that had lingered too long in dark recesses. He could do this.

“You should fuck me,” Ronan said.

* * *

“Here?” Adam asked, not pulling away and murmuring instead directly into the dampness of Ronan’s boxer briefs. Adam glanced up Ronan’s long torso in time to see him shake his head.

“My room’s warmer, and my bed’s comfier than the couch.”

So Adam pulled back and stood.

“Lead the way,” he said, helping Ronan to his feet.

“Fine, but by the time we get to my room you better be naked.” Ronan said, faux-unforgiving.

“Sir, yes sir,” Adam laughed, taking off his sweatshirt and dropping it next to Ronan’s clothes. He continued stripping off clothes as he followed Ronan up the stairs, remembering at the last minute to pull a condom out of his jeans’ pocket and slip it under the waistband of Ronan’s boxer briefs for safe keeping. Ronan smirked over his shoulder at that.

They took a right at the landing and walked to the end of the hall where there was a dark grey door that Ronan led Adam through. Inside was warm and tinged green with light filtering through thick curtains. There was a large dark wood desk marred by old ink and gouged out dicks that Adam could guess was a holdover from Ronan’s teen years. There were also tall shelves along one wall that had stacks of books piled haphazardly between framed photographs and small abstract sculptures. Adam would have happily spent hours poring over the books or looking through the stacks of manuscripts on the desk but he was aware of how similar this was to the first time he’d invited Ronan into his space, the delicate dance between defensiveness and vulnerability that he’d felt in that moment. So he set aside his curiosity and focused on stripping off his boxers.

When Adam focused back on Ronan he was surprised to see him under the covers already, boxer briefs discarded on the floor next to the bed.

“Cold?”

“Something like that,” Ronan said beckoning Adam closer with a jerk of his head. There was still something in Ronan’s eyes, an unease that spoke of discomfort in his body. It didn’t suit Ronan’s usual swagger, but it did fit the Ronan he’d seen in the brief periods before getting into a scene and after they were done with one.

“You’re gorgeous.” Adam said, as he pulled back the covers and slipped in next to Ronan.

Ronan blinked slow and lazy, then said:

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Adam smiled as he gave Ronan a quick peck on the lips before Ronan passed him the condom.

“Lube’s in the bedside table,” Ronan said and Adam finished rolling the condom on, then opened the drawer. Inside were more books – a mixture of old, falling-apart paperbacks and hardcovers with the dust jackets still on – and charger cables and there, on top of the pile: lube.

Adam grabbed it out, squeezed some out into his palm and slicked himself. Then, just to be thorough, he got more on his fingers and prepped Ronan, who sighed and tugged at Adam’s hair until he obligingly nuzzled into the crook of Ronan’s neck.

“How’re you doing?” Adam murmured as he scissored his fingers inside Ronan.

“Good. I’m-” A deep breath in, not quite a gasp. “I’m good. You?”

“I’m excellent.” Adam said, nipping at Ronan’s collarbones.

When he felt sure that Ronan was stretched and slick, Adam pulled back slightly, so he could look at Ronan’s face.

The words were almost out of his mouth. It was instinctive with him to double, triple, quadruple check things, and his partner’s consent was no different. But he remembered at the last second, Ronan’s words _(“don’t second guess me”)_ and snapped his mouth shut.

Ronan nodded with a little pleased smirk.

“Good boy,” he said, pulling Adam’s hair just slightly.

Adam laughed.

“I’m not going to call you daddy,” he said.

“You say that now.”

“Oh shut up,” Adam said playfully, and then thrust his cock into Ronan all the way to the hilt.

Ronan groaned and Adam collapsed forward so he was leaning on his forearms. Their faces were a breath apart.

“If you want me to shut up,” Ronan said, voice low and the slightest bit breathy, “you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

“I’m just getting started,” Adam breathed before kissing Ronan’s laughing mouth. But on the next determined roll of his hips Ronan’s laugh stuttered and stalled.

“Fuck.”

“That’s the idea.”

“God you’ve got one ins-insu- Jesus, keep doing that,” Adam had sucked one nipple into his mouth and was tugging at it gently with his teeth, “one insufferably smart mouth.”

Adam slowly increased pressure with his teeth as he tried to establish a rhythm with his hips. Eventually he was biting hard and Ronan was shifting and bucking beneath him, but Adam kept it up until Ronan whimpered – deep in his chest, barely audible – and then Adam relented.

“No, no, don’t stop, that was good.”

Adam pulled back to admire the reddened indents where his teeth had just been before obligingly repeating the action on Ronan’s other nipple. By the time he pulled away his hips were working steadily, fucking into Ronan in time with Ronan’s breaths.

Ronan’s face, when Adam looked, was shiny with sweat and stained a dark, healthy red. Adam was dimly aware that he was sweating too, that Ronan was scratching at his back with ragged fingernails, and that Adam was shaking with the intensity of the sensations bombarding him.

“C’mon. C’mon, faster,” Ronan urged, “I can take it.”

“I’m sure you can take it just fine,” Adam huffed out, breathless, “I’m worried about myself.”

Ronan snorted and then moaned at the next particularly deep thrust.

“Well, Parrish,” Ronan said, “if you can’t handle this much man, just say so.”

“Oh fuck the hell off. If you want to run this show just say the word.”

“You know, that’s an excellent idea,” Ronan said, and then before Adam could process the words, Ronan was flipping them over easily and seating himself on top of Adam’s cock.

“F-fuck.” Adam swallowed, mouth dry at the display of strength and speed, at the way Ronan’s shoulders looked and the stark lines of his abdominals. The idea that Ronan could easily manhandle Adam at the drop of a hat set his heart racing impossibly faster.

“You like that?” Ronan said, smug, but honestly in this particular moment Adam couldn’t even hold it against him.

“Maybe,” Adam said, because he could at least make Ronan work for it, “I might be better persuaded by repeat performances.”

“For god’s sake, finish one fuck before you start setting up the next one, Parrish.”

“What can I say, I’m a planner,” which was true and had the added bonus of making Ronan huff out a laugh.

Adam brought his hand up to start rubbing at Ronan’s clit. It was larger than most he’d seen but that just gave him more to work with. And as soon as he touched it Ronan moaned and started fucking himself faster on Adam’s cock.

It only took a minute or two of lightly working Ronan’s clit before Ronan was curling into himself and coming with waves of full-body shivers. Adam kept moving, drawing the pleasure out as long as possible, until Ronan shook one last time and pushed Adam’s hand away.

Adam let his hand rest on Ronan’s thigh as Ronan slowed his movements down until he was just barely undulating his hips as he caught his breath.

That was when Adam saw it. Or rather, he felt it first. Beneath his thumb, where it rested high on Ronan’s inner thigh, was a raised line, like a scar.

By this time Adam’s vision was hazy with pleasure so he had to blink a few times before he could make it out, but suddenly what he was seeing snapped into place. It was a jagged, amateur tattoo. Clearly it had healed poorly, hence the fact that the skin was still raised there. It the letter ‘K’ made from three blocky, dark lines coming together. It looked nothing like the beautiful design covering Ronan’s back.

All of it only took a half-second to take in, and before he could think it through, he was rubbing his thumb more purposefully over that tattoo and asking, voice wrecked, “What’s this?”

Ronan went completely still and rigid before Adam could blink. His face blanked out and he scrambled backwards off of Adam. Adam had a moment to look up at the ceiling and realize that he’d just fucked up, before he pulled himself together and shifted into a sitting position, careful not to touch Ronan where he was sitting at the foot of the bed, knees pulled up to his chest.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment as Ronan watched Adam warily and Adam tried to project his apology directly into Ronan’s brain. But it didn’t seem to work because the longer the silence stretched, the faster Ronan’s breathing became until he was practically hyperventilating.

“I’m sorry.” Adam said.

“What for?” It was a challenge; it was ‘how dare you imply that I require care’.

“It wasn’t my place to ask you that. And I certainly shouldn’t have asked right then.”

“Whatever, it’s a question. You’re allowed to ask questions.”

“I think we should probably put some clothes on.”

“Why.” It wasn’t a question. Ronan’s eyes were dull. “You didn’t come.”

“I’m really not concerned about that right now.”

“Jesus, Parrish, I’m fine.” Ronan said, gruffly. But he stood up and pulled his boxer briefs on. With them on, the tattoo was obscured completely, but Ronan still tugged at the left leg hole, pulling it down an inch further. Adam realized he was staring so he got up and busied himself disposing of the condom and pulling on his own boxers. When he turned back around, Ronan was wearing a shirt and sitting on top of the ruinous mess of the sheets, back to the headboard.

“So,” Ronan said, and it was trying to be belligerent, but came out more resigned. “We gonna talk about this?”

“If you’re up to it. But, don’t feel like we have to do this now.”

“No, no, might as well.”

“Okay.” Adam sat beside Ronan, shoulder to shoulder but not quite touching.

“K was my ex.”

“The one you mentioned?”

“Yeah.”

“You got that tattoo for him?”

“He _gave_ me that tattoo.” That seemed like a small distinction but something about the way Ronan said it, along with the shape the tattoo was in made Adam wonder.

“He wasn’t a tattoo artist.”

“No.” Ronan sounded bitter. “His friend got fired from a tattoo shop, so we broke in after closing and… and he gave me that.”

“Do you regret it now?” Adam was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he figured forming it as a question was less of a dick move than acting like he knew exactly how Ronan was feeling.

“I regretted it as soon as I was sober enough to see straight. He thought it was funny.”

Adam swallowed hard at the implication.

“Sounds like a real asshole.”

“He was.” There was a long moment of silence. “He- he said, he had to mark what was _his_. Like I fucking belonged to him.”

“Jesus,” Adam said, because he couldn’t not, then more carefully, “That’s pretty fucked up.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Ronan snapped, hands balling into fists against his thighs.

“No. No, I’m fairly sure you do.”

“Even at the time, we fought about it. He hit, I hit back, by the end we both probably should have gone to the hospital, but we didn’t.”

“You don’t have to answer this, but… how’d it end?”

“Shit.” Ronan said, bringing his fists up slowly to press the knuckles against his forehead. “Fucking- you sure you want to hear that story? If you thought the rest was fucked up, I’m not sure you want to know this part.”

“Like I said, you don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to. But yeah, if you’re okay telling me, I want to hear.” There was a long silence. “You’re not going to scare me off, Ronan.”

Ronan turned, made eye contact. “You sure about that?”

Adam held his gaze, nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Ronan looked away again, eyes focusing on the bookshelves across the room. Adam watched his face.

“I tried to get sober. He started slipping me pills.” Ronan’s expression was blank. “I threatened to leave him.” His eye’s flickered over to Adam. “When I woke up, I was tied up in his trunk. Halfway to who knows where.”

“Fuck.” Adam breathed, because he would have said he didn’t have any expectations, but that still went against them. “What did you do?”

“What they always tell you to do: I broke the brake light and stuck my hand out, trying to get the attention of someone driving behind us. I hadn’t really been talking to any of my friends by that point, so no one knew I was missing, if I didn’t get myself out, I don’t know what would have happened.”

“And someone saw you?”

“Either that, or K was speeding; he pretty much thought he was a street racer. Anyway, eventually I heard sirens behind us. He pulled over. I still don’t know why the fuck he did that. Maybe he was high and he’d forgotten I was back there. Maybe he thought he could bribe the cop, that daddy’s money could buy him out of a kidnapping charge. I don’t know.”

“Did it?” Adam asked, feeling sick with the possibility of such a lapse in justice. “Buy him out of a kidnapping charge?”

“I- okay, here’s the thing. If I tell you this, you can’t make a big fucking deal out of it. I had my reasons and believe me, I’ve had to explain my decision over and over again. I’m not gonna do that with you, I’m just gonna tell you and you’re going to accept it.”

Adam knew that tone of voice, knew it from both sides of the courtroom, knew the way Ronan’s eyes flickered over his and away.

“You didn’t press charges.”

But Ronan wasn’t quite like those other victims because now Ronan's gaze found his and it _held_. It dared Adam to judge, to tell him he was wrong. Ronan's eyes said, ‘my regrets are mine to ponder, not yours to dictate. I will not apologize for my choices, even if I know them now to be mistakes.’

“No, I didn’t.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Just ‘okay’? Fuck Adam, eventually we’re gonna hit something that you can’t just accept with an ‘okay’.” He sounded angry, but Adam got the feeling that anger was an easier emotion for Ronan to express than fear, for reasons that made more sense now than they had half an hour ago.

“Yeah, maybe we will. But we haven’t hit that point yet.”

“Why not?”

Adam sighed. There were many ways to answer that question. There were many reasons that Adam could accept what Ronan had told him. Some of them were easy. But it couldn’t have been easy for Ronan to tell him about K, so Adam felt that it was fair for him to give a little hard truth in return.

“You know what I did with my first bonus?” Adam held Ronan’s eyes, made sure he saw that this wasn’t a dodge, this was an answer if Ronan would give him the chance to say it.

Ronan must have read his expression right because he just shook his head slowly.

“I got a hearing aid implanted in my left ear. Before that, since I was seventeen, I’d been deaf in that ear. I had gotten by on lip reading and my one hearing ear, but I still probably missed about 60% of spoken conversations.”

 “What about now?”

“I still miss about 15%. Hearing aids aren’t perfect.”

Ronan watched him for a long moment.

“Are you going to ask me what happened when I was seventeen?” Adam asked, glad in that moment, that it was coming out like this, so soon but still on his own terms.

“Do I want to know?” Ronan asked, honestly.

“You not knowing won’t mean it didn’t happen. So you tell me.”

“Okay. What happened when you were seventeen?”

“My mother found a bank statement in my room, which said I had over $10,000 in my savings account, my college fund. She told my father. And,” this was the hardest part, “he pushed me down the stairs of our doublewide. It wasn’t the first time he’d hit me, but it was the worst. When I got up, I couldn’t hear. I don’t know if there was anything they could have done, at the time, if I’d gone to the hospital.”

“Did… did you press charges?”

“I didn’t have anyone to back me up. I knew- well, my mother would have taken his side. But I petitioned for emancipation. Spent the last half of senior year living in a broke down crapheap of a car. And then I moved to New York and I never, ever looked back.”

Ronan’s hands flexed and dug into his bare thighs. He didn’t seem to know what to say. Eventually, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“Do you think any less of me?”

Ronan looked at him sharply.

“Of course not.”

“And I don’t think any less of you.” Adam said, bringing everything back around. “We all have choices to make. We have our reasons. Maybe we wish it were different. Maybe we regret it later. But in that moment no one can know what it’s like to be us. So no one has the right to judge.”

Ronan’s fingers went slack, his left hand falling onto the bed between them. He looked more wrecked by Adam’s words than he had been by any of their scenes. Carefully Adam placed his own hand over Ronan’s open palm.

“So,” Adam said, “I’m not going to make you explain yourself. But I do have a question.”

Ronan tensed again, but the movement just curled his fingers around Adam’s until they were holding hands in the bare space between their bodies.

“What?”

“Did you still love him, after?”

Ronan grit his teeth and stared down at their clasped hands.

“I hated him. I had nightmares every night for months. I still have them sometimes. I daydreamed about finding him and making him pay. But yes, I did. I loved him and I couldn't stop. _Did_ , though. Past tense.”

“I was just wondering. Believe me, I'm so far from jealous.”

“Why's that?” As if that was an option that even made sense.

“Because I would never want you to love me against your will. I’d want you to love me because you chose to, because you saw me and said ‘I want that one’ and kept choosing me for as long as you wanted to and not a moment past.”

“That's nice but love doesn't work that way. It's something that happens to you, not a choice.”

“I disagree. To me, everything's a choice. No matter what you're dealt or what comes your way, it's up to you to decide how to react to it. And I think if you look at it that way, then you give yourself the opportunity to always be in control.”

Ronan looked at him then. He'd been looking before but this was deeper, this was piercing blue eyes and an expression like Ronan could see down to the very depths of him. And Adam didn't know quite what was down there to see.

Finally, after long seconds of silence, Ronan turned, reached over the space between them, and with his free hand took Adam's jaw in his steady palm, and kissed him.

It was like lightning. Not the kiss. That was thoughtful and precise, careful. But the knowledge struck Adam soundly, that someone, that Ronan, could look at whatever tangled knot of issues he had regarding abuse and control and love, and say, ‘I can roll with that.’ Adam couldn't think of any feeling quite like it.

“Thank you.” Adam said, after they came up for air.

“Shhhhhh, shut it.” Ronan said, pushing Adam over and bodily moving him around so that they were arranged in the middle of the bed, feet pointed toward the headboard. Then he took both of Adam’s hands and pinned them over his head. But gently. So gently. And when he was done he curled his fingers with Adam’s so they were holding hands above Adam’s head.

And he was looming over Adam, effortlessly holding himself up as his biceps stood nicely at attention. He had just manhandled Adam across the bed, had Adam pinned completely. And yet, looking at him, Adam couldn’t understand how he’d ever thought Ronan was dangerous. Looking at him now it was clear he was a tarantula: certainly something to be handled with care, but not something to fear. And soft to the touch besides.

With no effort at all, Adam pulled his right hand from Ronan’s grasp and brought it up to run along the downy fuzz of Ronan’s hair. Ronan’s eyes closed and he leaned into the touch and Adam felt choked with all the feelings he didn’t know how to voice.

He guided Ronan down and their mouths met again and there was nothing else to say.


	7. I shouldn't feel like I have to protect you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has the most self-indulgently unrealistic scene in the whole fic. Because in what world would a closed sign keep New Yorkers out of an otherwise open coffeeshop. Fucking never. I definitively don’t give a fuck.  
> Also, warning for some light violence, and some vile abusive rhetoric. It gets taken down, but it’s still there, just so you know.

Ronan thought there was something spectacular about just… sharing space, about talking in the dark with Adam’s back to Ronan’s chest, feeling Adam’s fingers curled protectively around his own.

After the sex and that talk they’d made out for a few hours, then they had gone downstairs and they’d discussed lawyerly stuff over a late night snack. Afterwards they’d come back to bed and curled up together.

Eventually the clock metaphorically flipped over into the early hours and Adam said, yawning, “I should get to sleep.”

“Don’t let me stop you.” Ronan said, leaning over and switching off the bedside light.

Adam settled against Ronan and yawned again. Ronan pressed a kiss to the back of Adam’s neck where his tidy haircut met his freckled skin.

“Sorry,” he said after a moment. Adam didn’t even tense, just squeezed his hand.

“What for?”

“That wasn’t much of a first date.”

“Good food, good sex, an intense heart-to-heart. Could have been a lot worse.”

“An ‘intense heart-to-heart,’ what a freakishly tactful way to put it,” Ronan said, but he was somewhat comforted.

“Well I _am_ a lawyer. What would you call it?”

“A fucking trainwreck.”

“Maybe a little bit. I’m sorry I accidentally pushed us into talking about it when you weren’t necessarily ready. But you have to admit it’s good to have conversations like that early.”

“Oh, yeah, an excellent idea to get all the baggage out in the open, unless it’s too much and the other person decides to book it.”

“I’m not gonna ditch.”

“So it seems...” The ‘ _I’m skeptical’_ Ronan left prominently unsaid.

“Everyone’s got baggage. At least you’re willing to talk about yours.”

“You are too.”

“Some of it anyway.”

“You’ve got secrets you’re not telling me about, Parrish? Spill.”

* * *

 It was a joke. Adam knew it was a joke. But it still hit home. Because Ronan had bared himself, had told Adam something real and true and messy, something that must have been impossibly hard to say. And Adam had returned the favor, in part. But only in part.

He realized the silence had gone on too long.

“I was kidding,” Ronan said, “we’ve done enough confessing for today I think.” And it would be so easy to let it go. So easy to pretend he was the person he projected to the world. But Ronan deserved to know the real, difficult, messy truth.

“No, might as well,” Adam said. All he had to do was just meet Ronan in the middle, equals choosing to entwine their lives. He didn’t realize he’d tensed until Ronan curled closer against his back and Adam felt it like a whetstone on a knife’s edge. “The first time I had to buy a suit for an internship I had a panic attack,” he said finally, because that was as good a place to start as any.

“Why?”

“Because it was expensive,” Adam said first, “because I felt like a fake. I was buying the best cheap suit I could find and it was still more than a month’s rent. I had been reading men’s fashion magazines for the better part of a decade so I knew it looked decent, but standing there, looking in the mirror,” it was like he was back there, breaths coming short in a spacious fitting room that nonetheless felt like a coffin. _Once upon a time_ , he had thought, _I would have been lucky to be buried in a suit this nice_. “I still thought I was just trailer trash wrapped up in an expensive lie.”

The words ‘trailer trash’ coming out of his mouth was, he imagined, akin to vomiting glass: it tore at his throat and he tasted bile.

It was worse saying it to Ronan, who oozed expensive dishevelment, and in his home, which exuded luxurious love.

“Do you still feel that way?” Ronan asked after a moment.

“Some days, yeah. I’ve mostly gotten used to it but I think that level of self-loathing you never really grow out of.” There was nothing quite like growing up without any money to make you feel like you didn’t deserve any.

Adam didn’t cry often. He just didn’t. He used to worry that it meant he was heartless. So he didn’t feel like crying. Instead he just felt numb, felt cold every place that Ronan wasn’t touching him.

“I did.”

“What?” Adam had lost the thread of the conversation.

“I grew out of my self-hatred,” Ronan said, and maybe earlier that day it would have set off a tripwire in Adam’s heavily weaponized subconscious, but after their talk earlier, he didn’t want to lash out at Ronan for this. For anything. “Well, I’m not sure ‘grew out’ is the right term.” Ronan continued. “That makes it sound like something that just _happens_. It was more like I fought my way out kicking and screaming. Kept fighting until I was living a life I didn’t hate.”

“I don’t hate my life.” Adam said quickly, heart racing. He _didn’t_.

“I didn’t say you did.”

He hadn’t, Adam realized. He hadn’t said it. And yet Adam’s mind had jumped there, had heard Ronan say he used to hate his life and rushed to defend itself. A defensive move from that good old subconscious.

“But-” Adam said. _No, no, no_. His mouth was moving but he didn’t want to hear what it had to say.

“But I wouldn’t say I’m happy either.” It was a bullet straight through soft tissue. Clean, in an out, but still Adam couldn’t breathe around the pain of the truth. And it was almost funny. He’d wanted to give Ronan the hard truth but not this truth, not this secret he’d been keeping even from himself. “I mean, I’m happier talking to you than I am winning another pointless case.” ‘ _Pointless?_ ’ he wanted to yell, ‘ _that’s your whole life, how can it be pointless_.’ And yet every word felt right as he said it. Adam raised his free hand to his mouth to stymie the words leaking out. “Shit.”

Shit. This couldn’t be happening. He had everything he wanted. He was successful. He couldn’t just _decide_ that it wasn’t enough. He’d worked his entire life to get here.

“What would make you happier?” Ronan asked, as though the world wasn’t ending.

“I don’t know.” What on earth could he possibly need? Why wasn’t this enough? “God, this is crazy. I have everything I dreamed of having as a kid and somehow it’s still not enough, what the fuck is wrong with me?” Adam realized he was trembling ever so slightly.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.” Ronan said, scooting back and pulling lightly at Adam’s shoulder, trying to get him to turn over. Adam let himself be moved, let Ronan take both of Adam’s hands into his.

“You know what I wanted to be when I was little?”

Blue used to do this when Adam started panicking. She would start talking about something else completely, just to give him something else to think about. Right now Adam clung to it.

“No.”

“A farmer.”

Ronan’s eyes were a deep, cool ocean, with hidden tides and unbelievable strength held at bay.

“Well you got a chicken so you’re part way there,” Adam joked, desperate to let himself be soothed.

“Yeah, I guess,” Ronan said, with a genuine smile to beat Adam’s forced one. “But when I found out a typical farm involves, you know, at some point actually _killing_ the animals, I kind of realized it wasn’t for me. The point is, when we’re kids we have ideas for what adult jobs would be like. We don’t know what they actually entail, what the reality of our fantasy adult lives would really be. So yeah, going after your childhood dreams is great and all, but you’ve got to adjust when you find out more about what you thought you wanted.”

Adam couldn’t breathe. It sounded so simple and so logical but it couldn’t be.

“But I went to law school. I loved law school. I want to be a lawyer.” He tried to sound sure. He _was_ sure. Wasn’t he? “So why don’t I love my job?” It came out small and plaintive and he hated it.

* * *

Ronan was so desperately not prepared for this. He wasn’t an adult. He had stumbled into a job that worked for him because he didn’t have to worry about a schedule and he had enough money sitting in various overseas accounts that he didn’t need to scramble to make ends meet. He didn’t know what the pressure of finding and keeping a job felt like. He didn’t know any of this. But, he supposed, he did know something about lawyers.

“Well, there are lots of different ways to be a lawyer. My dad wanted to be rich, that’s why he went into corporate law. But my mother was a public defender, then after she married my father she specialized in family law. You don’t- you don’t have to keep doing exactly what you’re doing now.”

“Yeah… maybe.” Adam still sounded troubled and Ronan’s instinct was to push, to reach into whatever knot this was and pull at it until it unraveled. But Adam also looked exhausted suddenly, and he had work in the morning.

“Get some sleep. You don’t have to think about it now.”

“Yeah,” Adam sighed. Holding onto one of Ronan’s hands he turned back over so Ronan was tugged up close along his back. Slowly the tension drained out again from Adam’s muscles. Ronan peppered kisses along the skin of Adam’s shoulders until his breaths evened out and then Ronan just held him and thought.

It seemed strange, that he felt so strongly for someone he had only met a few weeks ago. And yet, he did. He wanted to bare his scars and bear Adam’s troubles, wanted to cook together and fuck and talk into the early morning, wanted to sleep next to him. Fuck, he just wanted Adam to be happy, and he wanted to contribute to that in any way he could.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

It was a few hours later and Adam had eventually rolled over to his side of the bed when Ronan, still awake, heard his phone buzz.

 

From Gansey:

            I’ve got big news.

From Ronan:

            me too

From Gansey:

            You first.

From Ronan:

            you were right

From Gansey:

            Well that’s hardly groundbreaking.

From Ronan:

            shut the fuck up

i mean about the guy i told you about. it is Like That.

            we're dating.

From Gansey:

            That’s amazing Ronan, I’m so incredibly happy for you

            When do I get to meet him?

From Ronan:

            you kind of already have

From Gansey:

            What does that mean?

From Ronan:

            i only realized it when i went to his office, but… the guy I met at the club and your lawyer are the same guy

From Gansey:

            Adam????

            Adam Parrish????

            You are sleeping with and now dating one person heretofore known as Adam Parrish???

From Ronan:

            yup.

            sorry i started dating the guy you were crushing on

From Gansey:

            I don’t know what you’re talking about. I do not have a crush on Adam. Besides. I’m dating someone.

            Well, two someones.

From Ronan:

            your barista pals

From Gansey:

            How on earth do you know about them?

            Nevermind.

            Noah is the Peter Pettigrew of keeping secrets.

From Ronan:

            they are at that

            i don’t know any specifics though

From Gansey:

            Their names are Blue and Henry :)

From Ronan:

            okay either you’re fucking with me or Blue has become a much more common name than I thought it was

From Gansey:

            You know Blue?

From Ronan:

            Adam’s best friend is named Blue and she works at… shit motherfucking goddamn

            she works at Henry’s Coffee House

From Gansey:

            Ha ha, you’re hilarious. You must have got that information from Noah.

From Ronan:

            i really didn’t, you’re the one fucking with me for some indiscernible reason

From Gansey:

            Historically, you are much more likely to be fucking with me. Just feel that is worth mentioning.

From Ronan:

            … well yeah, that’s fair

            but I’m not this time

            seriously has nyc shrunk while i wasn’t looking?

From Gansey:

            Yeah, I remember something in the news about that.

            But honestly, I remember Blue saying her best friend besides Henry was a lawyer…

            Are you actually serious?

From Ronan:

            yeah dude, small motherfucking world or whatever

From Gansey:

            Wow. Okay.

            Well we have to all meet up.

From Ronan:

            ha, no fucking way

From Gansey:

            We’re best friends dating best friends. Not acknowledging that is asinine.

From Ronan:

            no

From Gansey:

            I’m just going to tell Noah and they’ll orchestrate everything. You are incapable of saying no to them.

From Ronan:

            i hate you

From Gansey:

            See you soon.

            Get some sleep.

 

And Ronan was, finally, feeling tired. So as the false dawn approached, Ronan watched the murky grey light creep across Adam’s face until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any more, then he fell into sleep.

When he woke it was to the clear light of a winter afternoon. Adam was gone, no doubt at work, but there were texts on his phone.

 

From Adam:

            You snore, jsyk.

            It’s pretty cute.

            Anyway, I used your shower, hope you don’t mind.

            I’ve got work until late, but I could come over afterward.

            Only if you want, obviously.

From Ronan:

            i could come meet you and we could get dinner

 

He didn’t expect an answer right away, not while Adam was at work. So he started getting dressed when his phone buzzed again.

 

From Adam:

            Yeah, actually can you come down now?

            Please.

 

* * *

Adam had started the day as he usually did: waking to the buzzing of his phone alarm. He was usually pretty good about turning it off and actually getting the fuck up, no matter how tired he was. For a moment this was just another day, late night working, early morning alarm. Then he remembered Ronan was in the bed next to him. He focused on that, on Ronan, and not on thinking about their conversation in the wee hours of the morning.

He took a moment to appreciate Ronan, to look at the sharp lines of his face turned soft with sleep. There was something uniquely wonderful about seeing someone like Ronan with his guard down, about being allowed to see that. Adam almost couldn’t breathe through the lump in his throat and the overwhelming urge to just curl in closer to Ronan’s furnace-like body heat and fuck his stupid job. His stupid job that, _apparently_ , he didn’t even like.

But Adam was good at doing the hard things. So he pushed that thought aside and got up, crept out of the warm bedroom and went to shower and change into his suit. Technically it was the same suit he’d worn the day before. But he kept extra ties in his desk at work, and honestly, anyone who saw him in the same suit would just assume he’d just pulled an all-nighter and slept in his office. That did still happen with some regularity.

He spent longer than he should have in the shower, which was perfect and scorchingly hot even if the water pressure left something to be desired. When he finally got dressed he calculated that he had just enough time to stop at Henry’s before work and grab a bagel or something. He realized right as he’d closed the door behind him that he’d left his comfortable clothes scattered across Ronan’s living room floor and winced. Hopefully he wouldn’t take it as too much of an imposition. Or, alternatively, hopefully he wouldn’t steal them and incorporate them into his own wardrobe.

Adam walked quickly to the subway through the semi-darkness of a winter pre-dawn. He was still running early enough to miss the worst of the morning foot traffic, so he got to Henry’s with about 15 extra minutes before he had to make his way to work. When he got there the fancifully painted and somehow very convincing ‘Closed’ sign courtesy of Blue was still hanging in the front window. But Adam peered around it and saw Henry inside. And when he tried the door it was unlocked.

Henry was, among other things, a complete pushover of a boss. He took all the earliest shifts that no one else wanted to work. Blue found it endearing, but not endearing enough to usually join him in his pre-dawn sacrifice. The problem with this was that Henry was also rather scatterbrained and had on more than one occasion forgotten one or more of the vital parts of opening the shop, such as, for example, letting people know they were open.

As was common when Blue wasn’t around to control the music, Madonna was playing uncomfortably loud when Adam pushed open the door. Usually though, Henry was aware enough to turn it down when the bell above the door chimed. This time Adam got all the way up to the counter with the Queen of Pop proclaiming that they were living in a material world. Henry was at the counter, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet and texting furiously. Adam watched him bite his lip and smile, and _oh_ , Adam knew that look.

“What’s Blue doing up at this time?” Adam asked, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

Henry jumped.

“What?” he asked, reaching for the stereo and turning the music down.

“You’re talking to Blue, right?” Adam said, confidently.

But rather than answering in the affirmative, Henry looked shifty.

“I’m not allowed to disclose that information,” he said.

Adam raised both eyebrows.

“Okay, there is literally no possible way you could have phrased that to make it any more interesting to me.”

Henry sighed, and looked pitiful.

“I know. I realized that as soon as it was out of my mouth.”

“So, should I lay out the facts for the jury?”

“Oh fuck you,” Henry said, rubbing a hand over his eyes, “next time Blue calls you a soulless lawyer I’m not going to defend you.” Adam knew he was joking, Blue wouldn’t call him a soulless lawyer in any seriousness, but it still stung.

“So, a) you’re texting someone, b) before the sun is even up, who is therefore c) not Blue and yet d) makes you go all blushy and secretive. That’s some pretty solid evidence there, boss-man.”

“Fuck,” Henry drew the word out, “I know.” The ‘oh’ sound went on and on. “But it’s supposed to be a secret. Blue wanted to tell you herself.”

“I can pretend to be surprised.”

“Please, neither of us could lie to Blue to save our fucking lives.”

Adam’s ego made him pause for a split second.

“Yeah, that’s true,” he admitted.

Henry finally seemed to realize that they were technically in a place of business and Adam probably wanted something from him other than whatever secrets he was trying to keep. So he busied himself getting Adam a bagel and a coffee. It was also, more than likely, an attempt at a distraction.

It wasn’t going to work.

“So…” Adam prompted after his first bite.

“So…” Henry sighed. “You know that regular Blue’s been complaining about for the last, what 8 months?”

“Could you narrow it down?”

“The Rich Asshole.”

“That really doesn’t help.”

“The ‘venti’ macchiato with the large glass of ice and the raspberry scone.”

“Oh, yeah I remember that tirade.”

“We’re kind of dating.” Henry said, and he couldn’t completely stop himself from smiling.

“What does Blue think of you dating the enemy?”

“She’s kind of… part of the ‘we’?” And he looked wary for a split second, before the expression was overwhelmed by smug joy that was so palatable that Adam couldn’t help but grin.

“I’m very happy for you,” Adam said, as sincere and honest as anyone could be.

“Thanks,” Henry said, bouncing from foot to foot, before looking suddenly stricken. “Fuck, Blue’s gonna kill me.”

“Yeah,” Adam said, only very slightly apologetic.

“I hate you.”

“Have a good day!” Adam said, grabbing his food and beverage items and making his escape. The music’s increasing volume chased him out onto the street.

After getting to work the hours slipped away from him. Around lunch he dragged himself away long enough to text Ronan.

 

From Adam:

            You snore, jsyk.

            It’s pretty cute.

 

God, he hoped Ronan knew he was getting into a relationship with the sappiest dom this side of the Atlantic. Because otherwise this would be a rude awakening.

There was no reply so Adam sent a few more texts.

 

From Adam:

            Anyway, I used your shower, hope you don’t mind.

            I’ve got work until late, but I could come over afterward.

            Only if you want, obviously.

 

Still no reply. Before he could make more of a fool of himself, there was a knock on the door of his office. He didn’t have any appointments, so he jumped a little and looked up.

Already half into his office was a man. He looked like he could be a well-connected member of the Russian mafia. Or perhaps a white rapper. The kind that got charged with domestic assault, if Adam was going to judge a book by its expensive clothes and fucking smug, flinty expression.

“Adam Parrish?” the man said, “I’m Joseph Kavinsky and I’d like to speak to you about one of your clients.”

Adam didn’t have a meeting for another hour, so he really had no reason to refuse. Hiding his reluctance, he motioned Mr. Kavinsky into a chair.

“Who is this concerning?”

“Ah, yeah.” Mr. Kavinsky sprawled into the chair, seeming to take up more than his fair share of the air in the room. “His name is Ronan Lynch.”

A shiver went up Adam’s spine. Technically, Ronan wasn’t a client of Adam’s. They had had one informal advisory meeting but no retainer had been signed. But if he had been, and someone found out they were sleeping together. Well, it wasn’t technically illegal or anything, but it was highly frowned upon.

“I’m sorry,” Adam said, smiling thinly, “I think you must be mistaken. Ronan Lynch is not one of my clients.”

“Oh, is that so? That’s convenient for me. See, I’m suing him. And that will just be easier if he doesn’t have any representation.”

And shit, that was a problem in the opposite direction. Because Ronan had come to him for legal advice. Any good lawyer would have gotten him to sign a retainer. If he’d done his fucking _job_ , he would be Ronan’s lawyer right now.

“I haven’t formally contracted as his lawyer,” Adam backtracked, “but I have reason to believe he would authorize me to represent him in any forthcoming lawsuit. What is this suit regarding?”

“He’s trying to publish a book. But, thing is, he stole the idea from me,” Mr. Kavinsky said, “and I’ve got proof.”

Adam was a humble sort of person. He didn’t boast or brag. But he was self-aware, and he happened to know he was a good lawyer. And one prerequisite for being a good lawyer was a perfect poker face. So, it was with a completely straight face and bland tone that Adam enquired with a simple, “Is that so?”

“Yeah. I’ve got my notebooks, they’ve got the entire story laid out, dated, not that that matters, with details only the real author could know.”

“Do you have a copy of these notebooks?”

“I’ve got the originals.” Mr. Kavinsky said, pulling several moleskins out of his inner jacket pocket and placing them on the desk. Adam reached for them, but Mr. Kavinsky’s hand clamped down over his. An unpleasant shiver went up Adam’s spine. “Did I mention they’ve been notarized?”

Adam pulled the notebooks and his hand away sharply. But his gut was sinking. Notarized, original notebooks would be pretty damning evidence in court, if they were too similar to the details of Ronan’s book.

He flipped through the first one, skimming the sloppy handwriting and mentally comparing the content to his conversation with Ronan. It was… very similar.

He was interrupted by his cell phone on his desk buzzing with an incoming text from Ronan. Adam dropped the notebook as if he’d been burned and picked up his cell phone.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said to Mr. Kavinsky and then moved to leave before his companion could acknowledge him. But Adam felt those searingly cold eyes follow him out of the room.

Once he was out in the hall he looked at the message.

 

From Ronan:

            i could come meet you and we could get dinner

 

Adam felt sick.

 

From Adam:

            Yeah, actually can you come down now?

            Please.

 

He desperately hoped Ronan wouldn’t ask him to explain himself over text. There was an almost instantaneous response.

 

From Ronan:

            i’ll be there in 30

 

Adam put his phone away and went back into his office.

“Mr. Lynch is on his way. Do you have a lawyer I could speak to?”

“I’m representing myself actually.” Mr. Kavinsky said.

“Of course. And you don’t mind if I examine these notebooks further?”

Mr. Kavinsky cocked his head insolently.

“I don’t know. Don’t they have to be entered into evidence or something?”

“Well, yes, if we were going to court. However, most suits of this nature are settled out of co-”

“You mean paying me to keep quiet?” Mr. Kavinsky laughed. “I don’t think I’m interested in that. I don’t want this book getting published at all. Or if it does, it’s gonna have my name on it.”

Adam wanted to say, ‘That’s never going to happen,’ both because copyright law didn’t really work like that, and because he wouldn’t fucking let it happen, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

“I see.” Adam handed the notebooks back over. “And you said they were dated and notarized?”

“Yup, dated as far back as two years ago, notarized more recently.”

Adam caught at that tiny thread.

“Why notarized so much later?”

“Well I didn’t exactly know the piece of shit was going to steal my work, did I?”

“I would ask you,” Adam said, voice icy, “to remain civil.”

“Yeah, whatever.” His expression was half sneer and half smirk.

“Tell me, how did Mr. Lynch supposedly come to have knowledge of the story contained in those notebooks?”

Mr. Kavinsky leaned forward in his chair, settled his elbows on his knees and looked at Adam through hooded eyes.

“I’m so glad you asked. See, _Mr. Lynch_ , or why don’t we just call a spade a fucking shovel, _Ronan_ was my assistant, I hired him to take notes for me. I dictated those ideas to him, and he wrote them down. Only, then he went and stole them.”

“So you’re telling me that if we ran the analyses those notebooks would be written in Mr. Lynch’s handwriting?”

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ sound obnoxiously.

There was something very wrong about this. Clearly this man was an enemy of Ronan’s, falsifying claims in order to hinder the publication of his book. But his lies were so bare faced, so easily proven false. Unless they weren’t false, unless somehow Mr. Kavinsky had the original, dated copies of Ronan’s story outlines. But wouldn’t Ronan have mentioned something like that being stolen? If they were lucky he would have filed a police report…

“Of course. And do you have the documents bringing suit on you?”

“Sure, filed it this morning. Want to cross my ‘t’s and dot my ‘i’s for me?”

“I would like to see the paperwork, yes,” he said coldly. Mr Kavinsky handed over a sheaf of papers. But Adam couldn’t stand looking at his self-satisfied face for one second longer. “And if you don’t mind, there’s a conference room down the hall, you can wait there until my client arrives.”

“Oh yeah. Why not? How ‘bout you come get me when Ronan gets here? The three of us can have a nice chat.”

“Right.” Adam said, trying to convey ‘fuck you’ in the blandest tone possible, “it’s to the left, three doors down.”

Mr. Kavinsky leaving the room was like a pot being taken off the heat: boiling, boiling, and then deathly still.

The time went like treacle, as Adam read and re-read every detail of Mr. Kavinsky’s allegations. Finally, Ronan arrived, looking unruffled except for an extra sharpness about the eyes.

He threw himself into the chair Mr. Kavinsky had vacated.

“What’s up?”

“There’s a man here who claims to have the original notebooks outlining your novel.”

Ronan’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared.

“What.” It wasn’t a question.

“He let me look at them briefly, the content seemed quite similar to the plot you outlined for me. He wants to halt the publishing of your book.”

“Who.”

“A Mr. Joseph Kavinsky.”

Ronan stopped breathing.

A moment passed.

Then he began shaking.

“That motherfucker. That motherfucker,” he said, breathless as his hands curled into shaky fists.

Adam had been right, this was an old enemy. But he hadn’t expected such a strong reaction.

“Who is he to you?”

Ronan stared at him, not really seeing him. Adam stood up and crossed in front of the desk, crouching in front of Ronan but not touching him, not sure if that would make things better or worse.

“Hey, look at me,” Adam said, voice as soothing as he could make it. “Ronan, can you focus on my voice?”

Air rushed through his nose as his breaths came and went, too quickly.

“Ronan,” Adam said again, and this time Ronan’s eyes focused on his. “Who is he?”

“K.”

It took a fraction of a second. Then Adam’s stomach dropped out.

“He stole my notebooks, Adam.” Ronan said, desperate and angry, “I thought I’d lost them somewhere when I was high, but he stole them. And now he’s trying to steal my fucking book. He can’t do that. He can’t-”

“No, he can’t,” Adam said, steely.

“They’re in my handwriting!” Ronan said, seizing upon the idea. “They can’t be his notebooks because they’re in my handwriting.”

Adam shook his head slowly, jaw clenched tight.

“He said he dictated them to you.”

“That’s _bullshit_ , he’s never had an original idea in his life,” Ronan hissed.

“We can deal with this. We can fight this. I’m just going to go in there and get him to leave and then we can talk.”

Ronan froze, swallowed. “He’s here?”

Adam stood up.

“Not for much longer,” he said, striding out of the office and down the hall.

The conference room was glass on three sides, so as Adam approached he could see Kavinsky leaning against the table, facing Adam with a look of smug satisfaction on his face. Adam also noticed that he was attracting some stares from some of the interns in the bullpen.

“You need to leave,” Adam said, as soon as the door was open.

“Ooh, no more Mr. Nice Lawyer.” Kavinsky mocked. “So you know who I am?”

“What I know. Is that _you_ need to _leave_.” Adam’s voice was lava: calm surface but death underneath.

“Has he really told you though? The whole story? ‘Cause he likes to make out like he’s the big victim in all of this. But when I found him he was alone and desperate for someone to bend him over their fucking knee. He couldn’t write for shit. I was his _muse_.” Kavinsky’s voice was poison.  “He begged me for more pills. And then, he thought he could just _change his mind_? I’m here to take back what’s mine.”

The next second stretched, like taffy, as Adam thought. He thought about Ronan, curled in on himself when Adam had asked about the tattoo, wary eyes when Adam insisted on negotiating their first scene. Ronan, tied up saying, “If I asked you to stop, would you?” And then, for the briefest microsecond, Adam thought about them lying in bed in the early hours of the morning, thought about Adam’s voice shaking as he admitted that he didn’t love his job, no matter how much he thought he should. And then, with all that knowledge lying heavy in his mind, Adam made a choice. And with that decision, he pulled back… and punched Kavinsky in the face.

Kavinsky went sprawling and Adam’s hand flared with pain. Before Adam could shake out his fingers or wonder if he’d broken something, Kavinsky was laughing.

“Oh aren’t you a fucking white knight? Who knew Ronan had found someone new to own his ass.”

“Listen to me you piece of _shit_. Ronan doesn’t belong to you, or me, or anyone but himself. And you are going to take this fucking bullshit lawsuit and walk out of this office right the fuck now or so help me we’ll file a counter-suit. And guess what? There’s no statute of limitations on kidnapping.”

“You okay with that, Lynch?” Kavinsky asked, looking behind Adam with a bloody smile on his face. “You’d let your boy here charge me with kidnapping?”

Adam turned around and in the still-open doorway, Ronan was standing. And as Adam watched his face twisted into a smile just as charged, just as angry, just as dangerous as Kavinsky’s.

“Yeah, actually. I think I’d be fine with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also if you're interested in bonus material related to this fic, check out the 'sub ronan' tag on my tumblr: interropunct.tumblr.com/tagged/sub-ronan. I've been answering prompts and writing smutty headcanons and will be posting a fanmix soon :)


	8. it was nice when I woke up (epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for going following me through this crazy ride. If you’re still reading it means a lot. I’d just like to say, this fic included, intentionally, references to: Check Please, Elementary and Suits. I might have forgotten one. But if you spot the references leave a comment ;)
> 
> Also! Check out the official fanmix here: http://interropunct.tumblr.com/post/155080978729/we-are-so-underground-a-trcbigbang
> 
> And some bonus scenes from alternate POVs will be going up starting tomorrow so look out for that :D

## Six Hours Later

On Fridays, Blue usually spent the afternoon with an agender artist friend of hers in the studio they rented out. Adam couldn’t quite understand it but he knew that creative outlets were important for Blue; they kept her grounded the same way she kept him grounded. Still, it meant he didn’t want to disturb her. He could have texted, or called, and she would have answered even with paint covered fingers, but instead he was just waiting, sitting on her doorstep under the cold orange glow of the street lights.

Blue’s neighborhood, a shadowed block in Bushwick, was not precisely the type of place where one wanted to wait on stoops after it got dark. And he had a key. So really there was no good reason to be waiting outside, in the cold darkness. But he was feeling reckless, untethered, uncontrolled. Really, he just needed to talk to Blue right now, or he worried he might fall apart, and in the meantime the freezing snow that had just started falling was almost soothing in its numbing quality.

It was past dinner now; Blue should be back any moment. Adam just sat on the steps and watched his hands shake: trying to tell himself it was the cold, trying not to worry about what the snow was going to do to his suit, trying not to think, period.

But he wasn’t suicidally reckless, so he still looked up at the sound of rubber boots sloshing through the wet snow, still thin on the ground. He’d made eye contact with a few concerned citizens that way, as well as a few that were more concerning than concerned, but no one had paid him any mind. This time, he recognized Blue’s huge, marshmallow-like multicolored winter coat with her tiny brown face peeking out from under the overwhelming weight of the hood.

“Adam?” she said, as she recognized him, shock and worry in her voice.

“Blue,” was all he could say.

She didn’t press, just herded him up the steps and into the apartment building. The freight elevator clanged alarmingly, just as it always did, it was almost calming in its predictability.

When they got into her apartment she ordered him to strip off his wet clothes in a way that made him blush even in its complete lack of sexual overtones. She bundled him up in homemade quilts and afghans that she’d inherited from Persephone and set him in front of a space heater in the kitchen.

She crouched in front of him for a moment, assessing his face, and whatever she found there, she stood up and said “What happened?” in a sympathetic voice that nonetheless brooked no argument; there would be no ‘I don’t want to talk about it’. She held his gaze for a moment, then left him on the stool at the table and started making tea, because she knew he hated talking about things face-to-face.

“I’m suspended from work.” Adam said, as she filled the electric kettle. She shut the water off and didn’t move for a moment. She didn’t prompt him, just waited. “And I might be getting charged with assault.” She set the kettle down in its cradle and then couldn’t seem to stop herself from turning around.

“Are you okay?” she asked, and it was incredible. She didn’t care about the circumstances, didn’t care what had happened, in that moment the only thing she cared about was how he was dealing with it.

“I made a decision. It was my choice.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Knowing what the consequences might be and actually seeing them play out are kind of different.”

“Yeah,” she said, not mentioning that he’d dodged the question again.

“I don’t know,” he answered finally, because part of him felt like he was going to fly apart, and yet, “I don’t regret it.”

“Want to tell me what ‘it’ is?”

“I punched a guy in the face in front of my entire office.”

The kettle was bubbling so Blue turned away and got down two of the largest mugs she had along with the most palatable of her mothers’ herbal teas.

“He deserved it.” Adam said, and Blue shot him a look over her shoulder that said ‘no fucking shit, you think I need that spelled out?’

“Who was he?” she asked instead.

“Ronan’s abusive ex.”

She brought the tea over to the table and set the larger mug in front of him before kissing him gently on the forehead, as clear a ‘you did good’ as she could possibly have said.

“Do you know yet if he’s gonna press charges? Is the suspension pending on that?”

“Yeah,” and then, “he can’t sue Ronan without getting the world’s worst countersuit. But me he can come after. And he’s got the money to do it, if he wants.”

“What does Ronan think?”

Adam smiled, a little dark triumphant thing. “Ronan said he’s a spineless asshole and now that he knows Ronan’s over him he’ll self-destruct.”

Ronan had said that, eyes blazing, after the police had taken their statements and he was getting into a taxi headed for The Brownstone. Adam had wanted to say, ‘I love you, I love you, I’d do it all over again,’ but that might have been moving too fast, so he said nothing and just smiled softly.

“Well, _rich_ abusive assholes are usually slightly more worrying than other types, but I guess we should trust Ronan’s judgment on this one,” she said. Then, “How long does he have to decide if he’s pressing charges?”

“Technically… a year, but anything longer than a week and he’ll lose the sympathy of the judge. Believe me, the only way you could feel sorry for this guy is if he had a fucking shiner, and maybe not even then.”

“So no work for at least a week.”

The tea, the apartment, Blue’s presence, all of it had calmed him, distracted him from the reality for a moment. But now it came pressing back down. He might lose his job. At best he’d get transferred off all his active cases and lose standing at the firm. Yes, he’d made the choice, so technically he was in control of exactly what happened, but still, it felt like his grip on the ledge had slipped and now he was falling.

Blue must have seen the panicked look on his face. Because she snapped her fingers once to get his attention and then cupped his cheeks.

“Adam Parrish – you know I don’t like to use this word, but it applies – you… are a badass bitch. And in all the time I’ve known you not once have you let the world kick you around. I have no doubt that whatever way this pans out you’ll end up on your feet, and if by some freak of chance you’re still on your ass in a week, I’ll give you a hand up.” Adam’s heart settled into a steadier rhythm at her words, “Because that’s my fucking job and don’t you forget it.”

He smiled.

“Love you,” he said, because this was someone who he could always say it to.

“Love you too,” she said. And then, “Now, I hear you pumped Henry for information this morning. And he cracked like a bad egg.”

“If I say yes am I at fault for the pumping or is he at fault for the cracking?”

“Oh, definitely both.”

“Shit.” But he wasn’t honestly worried and he could tell from the way Blue was gently glowing that she wanted to talk about it.

“So, what’s mystery guy’s name? I didn’t get that this morning.”

“Oh, something suitably embarrassing. Richard Campbell Gansey III.”

And with that Adam started to laugh and could not fucking stop, not even long enough to explain what was funny. Blue tolerated it well, because she was always trying to get him to laugh more. And Adam couldn’t help it.

It was a _small fucking world_.

## Six Days Later

The trees arched overhead, some completely bare branches, some still holding onto stubborn, bright burnt orange leaves. The air was crisp and clean in a way Adam was no longer used to. Distantly he could hear Gansey and Henry talking on the back porch over coffee where he’d left them. The cabin itself was too nice, its wooden floors and walls too shiny, its furniture too stately to make Adam feel welcome. Even after all this time, there was still something in him that thought of himself as an interloper in Gansey’s world.

But the woods were different. They reminded him of home. And for the first time that didn’t feel terrible. It felt… right, as though Adam was no longer at war with the part of himself that had parked his car in the woods for half a year so he could sleep undisturbed under the Virginia stars.

It was more than that too. There was something special about this forest, something otherworldly, as though the trees moved silently whenever you turned your back on them. It should have been menacing but it wasn’t. Instead it was comforting in the way that Adam supposed religion could be. The woods seemed to whisper ‘You are not alone in this world, there is magic and magnificence just out of your reach, keep climbing’.

Adam shivered and it could have been the afternoon chill but it didn’t feel like it. It felt like there was something there, if he just looked hard enough.

He and Blue had wandered the woods the first day they’d arrived, the others trailing behind. Adam had seen his wonderment reflected back at him in her eyes and they’d climbed trees and had a pleasantly warm picnic in one of the further fields.

Now he heard footfalls behind him and for a minute he thought they echoed with power and deep-seated belonging. But it was just the crunch of leaves and when he turned around Ronan had his head cocked and a half-smile on his face.

“Want to see something cool?” he said, eyes alight with reflections of fireworks that had no source.

Adam nodded and Ronan held out his hand. Their fingers curled together, easy as a worn key in an old lock. Ronan led Adam back towards the road, but not quite in the direction of the house, and Adam reveled in the fact that he couldn’t hear anything but rustling leaves and bird song, as though out here the city noises he’d become so used to simply couldn’t exist.

It still didn’t feel quite real, being here. Of course, the nice thing about having psychics for family was that they were very good at giving unsolicited yet deeply insightful advice that often led you in just the right direction. The night of what Blue took to calling ‘The Incident’, Adam had stayed at her apartment and in the morning Calla had phoned and said ominously that they were calling a Family Meeting that evening and that Blue and Adam were both expected “with all boyfriends in tow”. This was particularly disturbing because neither of them had told their mothers about their relationships yet, and certainly did not think their assorted significant others were prepared to meet the family in any way, shape or form.

And yet, when Calla told you to do something, you generally knew you had to do it or suffer deeply unpleasant consequences such as her disapproving face or Persephone’s slight sniffle or Maura’s motherly disappointment.

The meeting had gone as well as could be expected. Better actually after Ronan had had a small conniption that one of Adam’s mothers was his therapist. The physics dismissed it as a simple entwining of fate, Ronan responded with some choice swears at the world and fate in particular.

Their advice for Adam, after an eclectic and largely unhealthy meal, was that he needed to get out of the city.

“Well, not just you, Adam, all of you.”

“All of us?” Henry asked, incredulous but also somewhat excited.

“Where are we supposed to go?”

“Somewhere quiet,” Calla said.

“Somewhere relaxing,” Maura said.

“Somewhere magical,” Persephone said.

The five of them pondered this for a moment. Gansey, who had otherwise radiated silent, awkward yet earnest interest throughout the meal, finally spoke up.

“My family has some land upstate. I couldn’t be certain due to inaccuracies in local maps but I think it might be along a ley line,” Ronan sighed heavily on the other side of the table, “I’ve never been able to chart any significant magical activity,” Gansey finished, disappointment readily apparent.

The three women conversed for a moment behind their hands.

“Perfect,” Maura pronounced a second later.

Actually getting out of the city was more complicated, although not for the reasons one might think.

Gansey and Ronan had flexible jobs. Henry could afford to close his coffee shop for a week. Adam was currently suspended. Blue had two other part time gigs besides working at Henry’s but they were used to her leaving town at a moment’s notice whenever she got enough money together for one of her trips. At the last minute Ronan said they should invite his friend Noah (who was also Blue’s artist friend Noah, Ronan looked like he was going to have a fit) because it would be mean to “leave them out of the group”.

The hard part was getting a car. In the end Gansey just spoke to his mother’s broker, looked at a few older models and then picked a highly impractical, bright orange Camaro that not a single one of them could find it in themselves to speak ill against. It barely fit them much less their things. But when its engine roared Adam felt as though he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

They had arrived on Monday at a cabin in the woods of upstate New York.

Adam, despite his years in close proximity to psychics, didn’t know much about magic, but it seemed borderline impossible that there would still be flaming red leaves clinging to branches this late in the season, as though this place was just a step or two out of the regular progression of time.

Now Ronan led him past a pond whose smooth surface seemed weighty rather than stagnant. Adam paused and Ronan stopped as well, following Adam’s gaze.

Across the pond from them was a tree that looked impossible. It was huge and hollow, trunk forming a living cave beneath its outspread, grasping branches.

“What’s that?” Adam asked, awed by the grace with which it existed, as though it dared anyone to contradict it.

“The dreaming tree,” Ronan said, shrugging casually, accepting the impossible with impeccable ease. Adam must have given him _a look_ , because he shrugged again. “That’s what Gansey and I always called it. I don’t know, we found it when we were kids, I don’t remember where the name came from, it’s just always been: The Dreaming Tree.” There were capitals in the name this time.

Adam looked back to the tree, then turned so that Ronan filled one half of his vision and the tree took the rest. They seemed to complete each other. If that was The Dreaming Tree, Adam thought, then Ronan was The Dreamer.

“C’mon, that wasn’t what I wanted to show you,” Ronan said and pulled him a little further through the trees until a building came into view. “Originally it was for tools and firewood,” Ronan explained. “But when my dad started hanging out here with the Ganseys, they let him expand it out.” Ronan looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “We Lynches are pretty good with a sledgehammer,” he boasted and Adam laughed.

“I don’t doubt that in the slightest. What’s if for now?”

As they came around to the side of the building facing the road, it became clear, from the gravel driveway to the garage door, this was home to a type of machine Adam knew well.

But when Ronan tugged up the door and the car inside was revealed, Adam suddenly thought perhaps this was a different beast than he had worked with and in and around for so many years.

“The BMW,” Ronan said, “it was my dad’s he mostly kept it up here. It’s mine now but I don’t get to drive it much, living in the city. I mean city driving doesn’t even really count as _driving_ to a car like this.”

Distantly Adam noted that Ronan’s words were threaded with anxiousness.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Adam said, drifting a hand over the smooth grey hood, not quite touching for fear it would bite anyone who was not its rightful owner.

Ronan fished a key out of his pocket as he walked around to the other side of the car. He slid in smoothly, a gun into a holster, or perhaps out of one. After a moment the window rolled down.

“You getting in or not?” Ronan asked.

“Shit,” Adam said, somehow bowled over by what was, in hindsight, a logical statement.

And then, before Ronan could take it back, Adam opened the door and slipped into the belly of the beast.

“Let’s get out of here.”

The BMW roared into life, a dangerous, perfect, impossible creature in a dangerous, perfect, impossible forest, driven by a dangerous, perfect, impossible man.

Ronan pulled out and was on the road in an instant. The asphalt turned to silk, slipping smoothly away beneath the tires as the trees became brown-barked wallpaper running together outside the window.

“Holy shit,” Adam said, as Ronan shifted gears as easy as breathing and the car jumped forward with renewed energy.

Adam watched the power flow through Ronan, tightening the muscles of his forearm and straightening his back.

“I have never been more attracted to you.” Adam said honestly, as they took a curve just sharply enough for him to feel it in his gut.

Ronan smiled fiercely and shot a look Adam’s way, so smugly satisfied that Adam had to laugh.

“What’re you laughing at, Parrish?”

“A dreamer,” Adam said, which must have been nonsensical to Ronan. But he just nodded in agreement.

The car came up over the ridge of the hill and a forest stretched unbelievably ahead of them, grey and shadowed in the winter light. But there were marks, places where the vast expanse of wood was marred.

“What’s that?” Adam asked, pointing to one such barren ruin of tree stumps and debris as they passed it.

“Some of the neighbors aren’t quite as rich as the Ganseys,” Ronan answered, not looking away from the road. “They’ve sold off their land to logging companies. This whole valley’s going to be clear-cut in a few years if things keep going the way they’re going.”

“Fuck, that should be illegal,” Adam said vehemently, feeling almost sick with the thought of this forest disappearing forever.

“Is that your professional opinion?” Ronan asked, voice careful, “Because there are lawyers who specialize in conservation and environmental law.”

“Yeah…” Adam said, as a patch of white aspens blew past. “I saw a memo from Seondeok that the firm’s starting an environmental department.”

They kept driving as Adam played with the idea like a street artist played with a coin, flipping it over and over his fingers, watching as it caught the light.

Eventually they pulled over at a gas station just before hitting the freeway. Adam got out to stretch his legs in the dusk and took Ronan’s request for “something unhealthy as shit with a Monster the size of my head to wash it down with”.

“You’re disgusting,” Adam said, but he wasn’t about to police what Ronan could put in his body. As he got out of the car Ronan’s phone started to ring, probably Gansey asking where they’d gotten off to. Adam didn’t look back.

The lights were garish and the inside of the gas station smelled like meat that had been kept on a low heat for far too long. Adam skipped the aisles of knickknacks and necessities, not liking how that reminded him of living out of his car with only travel sized toiletries that he could use in the bathrooms after school let out. Even if he lost his job, he reminded himself, he wasn’t alone anymore. If the worst happened, he could live off of Blue’s couch for as long as he needed. He would survive the indignity if he had to.

Still, he gathered Ronan’s snacks quickly and didn’t buy anything for himself.

When he got back to the car Ronan was still on the phone.

“Yeah, I understand,” he said, and something was off in his voice. “Thank you for calling me.” He hung up.

“Who was that?” Adam asked.

“The police,” Ronan said, staring at his hands in his lap as a tremor swept through him. Adam could feel it echo in his own bones as his heart sped up.

“What did they say?” He would have thought they would call him directly, if it was about Kavinsky pressing charges, but either way, the police calling Ronan could not be a good thing.

“K’s dead,” Ronan said, looking over at Adam, “committed suicide last night, they found his body this morning.”

Adam didn’t breathe, didn’t move, tried not to think too loudly as he watched Ronan.

“I was still listed as his emergency contact,” Ronan said. Something about that struck Adam as desperately sad, even though the last thing on earth he wanted to feel was sympathy for Kavinsky.

“How are you feeling?” Adam asked carefully.

Ronan looked at him, then looked past him, then focused again, although sluggishly.

“I fucking told you he’d self-destruct,” Ronan said, as if he had to force the words out. Then he started shaking in shock or repressed rage or some other emotion Adam couldn’t understand.

“Ronan, let me drive home.”

“What?”

“Switch places with me. I know how to drive a stick. I can get us back to the cabin and you can talk to Noah or Gansey or no one if that’s what you want. Just let me get you home.”

It took a moment but eventually Ronan nodded and got out of the car. They met at the rear fender and Adam paused long enough to brush Ronan’s cheek with his fingertips. Ronan’s eyes fluttered closed and he took a single deep breath before his breathing sped up again.

Adam drove them back to the cabin as Ronan calmed and the winter stars came out. The forest was darker and shadowed but no less magical. It was a new moon tonight.

## Six Months Later

Under normal circumstances Ronan did not admit, in word or deed, to being nervous.

This was not precisely normal circumstances.

He was sitting in a cold room, under a bright light, while someone who he did not know very well was far too close to his junk. If the stranger between his legs had looked surprised or disgusted, then it could have come directly out of a nightmare.

But Drew had been made aware of what to expect; he was trans himself actually. Still, it was enough to make Ronan nervous. Nervous to the point of admitting defeat and clutching at Adam’s hand too tightly.

They hadn’t started yet. Right now there were just cold gloved hands on his thigh and the smell of antiseptic. Ronan tried to focus on all the differences from the last time he’d been in this position. For one thing, he was stone cold sober. That was a big one. For another, it was light out, bright summer sun filtering in through a high window. What else…

“You ready?” Drew asked. And Ronan gritted his teeth before nodding.

The machine buzzed to life and the pain fizzled through him as the needles started pushing their black ink into the skin of his inner thigh.

At first the pain was bad, or particularly pain in that exact spot. It reminded him of the last time, Kavinsky’s shaking hands pressing the tattoo gun too hard into the soft flesh. The days, weeks, after where Ronan had scratched and picked at it, refusing to let the tattoo heal, refusing to admit that small defeat.

But in the end the physical pain overwhelmed the memories, and his body started to feel fuzzy around the edges as the endorphins rushed through his veins. It was a fairly complicated design, but it still didn’t take as long as he would have liked. Eventually Drew moved onto the other leg, same spot, for the rest of the tattoo.

It had been Adam’s idea to cover up the tattoo. That is, by voicing the idea he had released all the suppressed thoughts Ronan had had on the matter. Ronan hadn’t talked about it, even after Adam’s comment had released the Pandora’s Box of fear and hope in his chest. He hadn’t wanted to expose the idea to light. Even though he told himself he didn’t give a shit what anybody else thought, even Adam. Even though he knew, really actually knew, that Adam would never judge him for this. Still he’d kept it secret. The only person who knew what was being put on his body was Drew.

Finally, after the buzz had settled into his bones and Adam had started brushing his knuckles gently over Ronan’s face, did Drew finally pull back.

“All done, dude,” he said.

“Thanks,” Ronan said, meaning it more than he could explain.

“Can I see?” Adam asked, carefully non-committal. Asking, not pushing.

“Drew, can you give us a moment?”

“Sure thing, I don’t have another appointment for a half hour. Just… don’t have sex on the table, I still need to clean and tape you up and honestly that’s super unsanitary.”

Adam looked a little insulted at the idea. Ronan just laughed and gave his word that there would be no sexual shenanigans. Andrew left the room.

Adam didn’t move immediately. Instead he just watched Ronan’s face, taking in the lingering smile Ronan could feel there.

“You ready?” Adam asked.

“Let’s do it, hotshot,” Ronan said.

Adam moved to the foot of the table and Ronan knew what he was seeing. In the bright red-edged blackness of new ink, were two letters, engraved forever in his skin. One, an R, growing from but completely obscuring a small K underneath, and on the other thigh, an L, both in stylized calligraphic fonts.

Adam didn’t say anything but Ronan could tell he understood. Still, just for the pleasure of hearing himself say it, he explained, “Because the only person I belong to is myself.”


End file.
